Song of a Highlander (Arch Through Time, #11)

by Baker, Katy

  “It didnae take ye long to catch the horse,” Ramsay said. “Ye obviously have the knack. It seems to me as though yer father’s croft will be in good hands when ye take over.”

  “But I dinna want to be a farmer!” the lad blurted.

  “Oh?” said Ramsay. “And what do ye want to be?”

  “A soldier like my grandfather,” David replied. He gazed up at Ramsay. “A noble warrior like ye.”

  Ramsay stared at the youngster. Nay, lad, he thought. Be like yer father. Ye dinna want to be like me. A friendless wanderer, trapped by the Fae? Ye think me noble? Ye have no idea.

  “Son,” said Alan with the resigned sigh of a man who’d had this conversation too many times. “Yer fate will be as the good Lord decides. There’s nay use wishing it otherwise.”

  “Husband!” Aida’s voice suddenly called from outside. “Ye better not be getting drunk in there! The roof needs finishing and there’s today’s catch to haul in!”

  Alan gave Ramsay a long-suffering look but there was a smile in his eyes. “Of course not, my dear! We’ve hardly touched a drop!”

  He clapped Ramsay on the shoulder and the three men went outside. After the gloom of the workshop the light was piercingly bright and as he stepped outside, Ramsay pulled up short. Jess stood by Aida’s side wearing a green dress that hugged her figure. Her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders.

  He stared at her, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “Ramsay?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Ramsay?”

  “Sorry? What?” he replied, turning to Aida.

  “I said everything is ready. I’ve taken the liberty of putting the provisions into a saddle bag along with some spare clothes. Ye are welcome to stay, of course. There’s rabbit pie for supper if ye’d like—”

  “No, thank ye,” he said, holding up a hand. They’d tarried too long already and couldn’t afford to let Artair get too far ahead of them. “We must be on our way.”

  He shook Alan and David’s hands and gave Aida a kiss on the cheek. “Ye have my thanks for all ye’ve done.”

  Alan hefted the coins he’d given them. “We’ve done naught but make a fair trade. We wish ye a speedy journey but be careful of Bluebell. She’s a strong-willed creature and can be bad-tempered when she doesnae get her own way.”

  Ramsay laughed. “I’ll bear that in mind.” He turned to Jess. “Ready?”

  Jess nodded, hugged all three of their hosts tightly, then allowed him to take her hand and lead her to the yard where Bluebell was tied. Ramsay was acutely aware of the sensation of her fingers in his. They seemed so small and delicate in his large hand and he couldn’t help glancing over at her. Lord, but the sight of her in that dress all but took his breath away. Did she have any idea of how beautiful she was?

  David held Bluebell’s head to keep her steady but Jess suddenly looked at Ramsay, eyes wide with terror.

  “I don’t have the first clue how to ride!” she murmured under her breath.

  He stifled a smile. She was brave enough to chase two thieves in the middle of the night and to volunteer to stay in a strange time in order to hunt down a dangerous criminal. And yet she appeared terrified at the thought of mounting a sway-backed old mare.

  Aye, Jessica Maxwell was a riddle indeed.

  “Dinna worry. I’ll help ye.”

  He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her into the saddle. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a little O of surprise. She clutched at the horse’s mane, looking terrified.

  With a final nod of thanks to Alan, Aida and David, Ramsay climbed into the saddle behind her. He took hold of the reins—which meant he had to circle his arms around her to do so—and set his heels to the horse’s flanks. Bluebell took off at a slow plod, snorting her displeasure. In only moments they had left the croft behind and entered open country, just himself, Jess, the horse, and the empty landscape.

  Chapter 7

  JESS WAS PRETTY SURE she was slowly being sawn in half. Each time the horse took a step, it sent a jolt of pain up through her thighs and backside, making her wince. Jeez, did people ride these things for pleasure? What was pleasurable about getting jounced around like a sack of apples and being rattled so hard your teeth hurt? She clung grimly to the horse’s mane, terrified she was going to get tossed any minute.

  In fact, the only thing keeping her in the saddle was Ramsay’s reassuring presence behind her and the cage of his arms to either side, promising that if she should fall, he’d catch her. Her thoughts fluttered back to the moment he’d lifted her onto the horse. It had been unexpected. His hands on her hips had felt...good. Even now she could feel the ghost of sensation where he’d touched her.

  “Ye need to relax, lass,” he said. “Ye are as stiff as a board. Do ye not ride at home?”

  “I rode a donkey once when I was about six,” she replied. “Does that count?”

  He laughed, and the sound sent a thrill right through her.

  “I’m not sure Bluebell would take kindly to being compared to a donkey. Although she moves about as quickly as one.”

  “You mean this is slow? I reckon if we went any faster I’d end up on my ass in the mud!”

  “That’s because ye aren’t moving with the motion of the horse. Ye are as tense as a bowstring. Ease yer grip on her mane and relax yer shoulders and thighs. It will make for a more comfortable ride.”

  Easy for him to say! No doubt he’d grown up around horses and was probably riding before he could walk.

  She forced her fingers to relax, released her death-grip on the horse’s mane and transferred her hands to the saddle horn in front of her. When this movement didn’t send her crashing to the ground, she gained a little confidence. With a slow exhalation she relaxed first her shoulders and then her thighs which she’d been using to grip the horse so tightly her muscles had cramped. To her surprise, the ride became a little smoother.

  “Ye see?” Ramsay said.

  “I do. That’s not so bad after all.”

  “Good. If ye’d have ridden like that all day by tonight ye’d be so stiff I’d have to lift ye off the horse and carry ye over my shoulder like a plank.”

  She detected amusement in his voice and she turned her head to glance over her shoulder. She found him watching her, his face only inches from hers. A shiver went through her and she hurriedly turned back to face the front.

  “How long till we pick up Artair’s trail?”

  “Another couple of miles to the village and then we’ll hopefully figure out which way he went.”

  “And when we find him?”

  Ramsay didn’t answer.

  That’s the question, isn’t it? she thought. What can we do? What can you do? What hope can you possibly have of stopping a madman with a gun? You can’t even ride a damned horse!

  But despite these misgivings, she didn’t regret her choice. Do what’s in front of you, Grandma Rosa would have said. Well, Jess was doing just that. Would her grandmother be proud or appalled by the decisions she’d made?

  They rode for a while in relative silence. They encountered nobody else on the road and Jess spent the time trying to get used to the movement of the horse and in gazing at their surroundings. The landscape was full of life: birds building nests, butterflies fluttering in shafts of light that broke through the canopy, fish jumping in the streams they crossed. It was a million miles away from the harsh winter she’d left behind.

  “We’re almost there,” Ramsay said in a low voice, pulling the horse to a halt beneath the spreading boughs of an oak. “The village where Artair shot that youth lies just through the trees. Considering our previous welcome, we’ll not go too close. If we make a circuit through the woods we should be able to pick up his trail. Stay alert. Let me know if ye see aught.”

  Jess nodded and Ramsay steered the horse away from the path and into the trees. His eyes scanned the gloom continually, and he pulled the horse up often to lean down and examine the ground. Jess had no idea what he was searchin
g for. She peered into the tangled undergrowth uneasily. What if Artair was still here? What if he hadn’t left at all and he was watching them right now?

  But she saw nothing. In the distance smoke was curling above the trees which indicated the presence of the village and now and again she heard the barking of a dog but within the trees, all was still.

  Ramsay suddenly took a sharp breath and yanked the horse up. He jumped down from the saddle, and knelt on the ground. This time even Jess could see what had caught his attention: footprints in the mud.

  “Four people,” Ramsay said, straightening. “Heading southwest.”

  “How do you know it’s Artair?” Jess asked. “Those prints could belong to anybody.”

  He pointed. “See there? That print is the mark of somebody wearing a stout pair of boots with a rubber sole. How many people in this time do ye think wear those? They’re at least a day ahead of us.”

  He remounted and turned the horse to follow the trail. His hand, Jess noticed, kept straying to the hilt of the sword Alan had given him. He was tense and focussed: a hound on a scent.

  After several hours the woods peeled back and Artair’s trail led them down onto a road of hard-packed dirt and grit. Here Ramsay pulled up the horse and dismounted. He winced as his feet hit the ground and pressed his hand to the wound in his side.

  “Ramsay?” Jess said. “Are you okay?”

  He waved away her concern and crouched to examine the ground.

  “He’s taken to the road. He seems to have some destination in mind. We have no choice but to follow.”

  He swung back onto the horse and nudged the beast into motion. They entered open country. Sheep grazed the hills and Jess spotted crofts and small farms dotted through the landscape. And, as they made their steady way along the road, stopping often to check they hadn’t lost Artair’s trail, they began to encounter people, all traveling in the opposite direction. The travelers were mostly on foot, men, women and children burdened with belongings and some pushing hand-carts which contained elderly relatives. If Jess didn’t know any better she’d say they were refugees.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Ramsay. “Who are all these people?”

  “I dinna know,” he replied. “But I dinna like it.”

  “Curse it!” he growled, leaning low in the saddle and scanning the ground. “Artair’s trail has been churned up by so many feet. We’ve lost it.” He waved down a stout woman shepherding along her three young children and dismounted. “Is there trouble ahead?” he asked her. “Why are there so many people on the road?”

  The woman took in Ramsay’s well-made clothing and the sword strapped to his side and seemed to decide he was a lord. She inclined her head respectfully.

  “If ye’ll take the advice of an honest merchant, dinna ride that way, my lord. Trouble’s brewing. We’re getting out before it erupts.”

  “What kind of trouble? Where have ye come from?”

  The woman glanced over her shoulder at the line of people marching along the road behind her. “We’ve come from Arndale, my lord. We owe our allegiance to the MacSual but Benneit MacGregor claims the town lies within his borders and that it belongs to the MacGregor. He’ll take it by force if Laird MacSual doesnae accede. And Laird MacSual does naught! If it weren’t for the Woodsmen, the MacGregor would have pillaged and burned half the land around here!”

  “The Woodsmen?” Ramsay asked with a frown. “They’ve been mentioned before.”

  “Aye, and ye’ll hear them mentioned again. Brave men they are,” the woman replied. “The only buggers who are standing up to MacGregor! What’s Laird MacSual doing, I ask ye? Hiding behind the walls of his manor while the rest of us fall to ruin!” She took a breath to carry on her tirade but cut off as a sudden cry rose behind her.

  “It’s him! Look! It’s him!”

  Several people rushed over to Jess and Ramsay, causing the horse to snort and stamp in alarm. Jess clung on grimly, sure she was about to lose her seat. The grimy men and women stared at Ramsay with rapt expressions.

  “Thank God for ye, my lord!”

  “Will ye stop the MacGregor from taking Arndale?”

  “Will ye give us back our homes?”

  Ramsay backed off, a startled expression on his face. “Who is it ye think I am? I dinna know any of ye!”

  A bearded man with a patch over one eye elbowed his way to the front of the crowd. “Ye are the leader of the Woodsmen! I saw ye with my own eyes when ye saved that merchant’s caravan from attack last week! Do ye remember me, my lord? I was one of the guards on that caravan. Dinna worry!” he called to the crowd. “I’ve seen this man fight! I’ve seen the warriors he has under his command! He’ll stop the MacGregor!”

  A cheer went up but Ramsay shook his head. “Ye have the wrong man,” he said. “I am not one of these Woodsmen.”

  “But I saw ye!” the man insisted. Then he squinted closer and rubbed his chin. “No, wait. Maybe I’m mistaken. Yer hair is longer and yer eyes are different. My...my apologies, my lord. Ye look mighty like him. Ye could almost be twins.”

  At this, Ramsay froze. His piercing gaze fixed on the man. “The leader of the Woodsmen looks like me?”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Ramsay said nothing. A vein was throbbing in his temple. Then he turned and climbed back into the saddle.

  “Ramsay, what does—” Jess began.

  “Yah!” Ramsay kicked the horse, sending her cantering down the road and leaving the crowd of people staring after. Jess yelped and clung on grimly as she was bounced around.

  “Slow down!” she cried. “I’m going to fall off!”

  Ramsay did as asked, slowing the horse back to a walk.

  She shot him an annoyed glare. “What was that all about?”

  Ramsay didn’t answer. He looked pale and there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. She remembered his grimace of pain as he’d dismounted.

  “Is your wound giving you trouble?”

  “Nay. It’s fine. Dinna fash, lass.”

  “Maybe we should stop so I can take a look.”

  “I said it’s fine!”

  She flattened her lips. Stupid, stubborn man!

  “Fine. Would you at least be so kind as to tell me where we are going now we’ve lost Artair’s trail?”

  “Arndale,” Ramsay replied. “I want to see with my own eyes this trouble they speak of. Something doesnae feel right to me.”

  They rode in grim silence until the town of Arndale came into view. It was a fairly large settlement that sat nestled at a crossroads. A stone cross had been built where the roads met and the buildings were mainly constructed of timber and thatch.

  As they rode into town, Jess began to understand the refugee’s concerns. The place was rank with fear. People moved down the muddy streets quickly and more than one hostile glance was aimed at Jess and Ramsay.

  “We’ll find an inn and stop for the night,” Ramsay said, looking around. “And try to pick up Artair’s trail in the morning.”

  Jess nodded. A night in a warm bed would be most welcome, although the thought of staying in this place was not particularly appealing.

  Up ahead she spotted a group of armed men. They wore a plaid different to the one Ramsay wore and had surrounded a man pulling a cart loaded with vegetables.

  “Well?” one of the men demanded. “Where is the tithe ye owe to Laird MacGregor?”

  The man cowered as though fearing a blow. “I’ve already paid my tithe!” he said. “It went to Laird MacSual as it always does! I dinna have aught else to give!”

  “MacGregor’s thugs,” Ramsay growled. “He’s grown bold indeed if he’s sending his ruffians into a MacSual town.”

  The leader of the armed men laughed. “Not anymore. Ye owe yer allegiance to the MacGregor now.” He nodded and one of his henchmen kicked the cart over, spilling the man’s vegetables into the mud. With cruel laughs, they strode off, leaving the merchant scrabbling in the dirt for his wares.

&nbs
p; Ramsay’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword but Jess grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t! What do you think you can do against four of them?”

  Ramsay growled under his breath then nodded, releasing his grip on the sword.

  He steered the horse up a side street to a run-down building with candle light spilling through the windows. There was a stable yard out the back into which he guided the horse. He swung his leg over the horse’s back to dismount but as his foot hit the ground he staggered, grunting in pain.

  “Ramsay!”

  Jess wriggled in the saddle, swung her leg over, and managed to slither to the ground in an ungainly fashion, stumbling as she landed. She hurried to Ramsay’s side. He was bent double, his hair falling forward to curtain his face, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. His hand, she saw, was pressed to his side.

  Stupid, stupid man! she thought. Why didn’t he tell me his wound was causing problems?

  “Lean on me,” she instructed.

  She pulled his arm over her shoulder, taking some of his weight, and helped him to straighten. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in pain.

  She spotted a door on the far side of the stable yard. They staggered towards it, Jess taking Ramsay’s weight. For a wonder, he didn’t protest, which was testament to the amount of pain he was in.

  “Wait, lass,” Ramsay gasped. He pushed himself painfully away from her support and straightened. He took out his purse and handed it over.

  “Ye’ll need this. Dinna let the innkeeper swindle us.”

  She nodded and led the way inside, Ramsay limping painfully after.

  The interior of the inn was dim and grubby. The common room was all but empty with just one man drinking whisky in the corner alone. As the door creaked open, the man pushed himself to his feet. He was thin and wiry with a bald head and white whiskers covering leathery cheeks. He had the glassy expression of a man who drank too much.

  “What do ye want?” he demanded.

  Jess realized this was the innkeeper. “A room,” she said. “And stabling for our horse.”