Rory: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 3)

by Lily Baldwin

  *

  Ramsay’s blond hair shone gold in the soft candlelight. Alex watched as he ran a smooth wet stone over the blade of a sword, eying the thin edge. “Good evening Rory, Alex,” he said without looking up at their approach.

  Alex smiled and bent at the waist, pressing a kiss to Ramsay’s cheek. “’Tis a pleasure, as always.”

  “How are ye, Ramsay?” Rory asked.

  He rested the sword on his knee and looked up then. “I’m enjoying a beautiful summer’s eve,” Ramsay replied. Then he jerked his head toward the door. “David’s been waiting on ye.”

  Alex smiled at Rory. “We were briefly detained.” Then she looked around. “Has it been quiet?”

  “Aye. The village sleeps. Go on ahead. Ye know I’ll keep watch.”

  “As always, ye have our thanks,” Rory said.

  Alex dipped her head to the handsome blacksmith, then she turned and led the way inside. She rounded the woodpile and lifted the boards away. “After ye,” she said to Rory.

  He smiled. “Nay, lass. Ye go ahead.”

  “Suit yerself,” she replied, before she dropped down through the hole. Hunched over, she crossed to the blue curtain and swept it aside.

  “Hello, again,” she said.

  A flash of surprise widened David’s eyes when he saw her.

  She smiled. “Ye weren’t expecting me.”

  “Nay, but I shouldn’t be surprised to see ye.”

  Rory came down the stairs and crossed to where David sat and clasped his hand in greeting. “I figured ye wouldn’t object to the aid of another agent.”

  “Ye figured right. We could use all the help we can on this mission.”

  Alex searched the room for another agent. “There’s only David,” she said to Rory. “Who will bring the weapons the rest of the way?”

  “Ramsay will do it,” Rory assured her.

  Alex thought of the giant blacksmith and decided there was no one better to entrust with a wagon full of swords.

  “Join me,” David said, motioning to the empty chairs.

  Alex sat down while Rory crossed to the keg and poured two tankards of ale, setting one in front of her. “Thank ye,” she said quietly. Then she turned her attention to David. He sat up, looking like he was going to speak, but then he leaned back in his chair and took a long quaff of ale. Slamming down his empty cup, he said, “We’re going to rob King Edward.”

  Rory chuckled into his ale. “Grand cracker, David. So, really what is our mission?”

  David did not reply. He looked at Rory. Then he shifted his gaze and looked at Alex with the same challenging expression.

  Confused, Alex broke the silence. “Does he have a contingent of men moving some coin?”

  David stood, poured himself another ale, then turned back to her. “Actually, we’re going to break into the King’s palace in London.”

  Alex looked at Rory sidelong. He shook his head, assuring her that David was not in earnest, but she wasn’t so sure. “Ye must be jesting.”

  David’s humorless facade remained unaltered. “Rory can tell ye that I am not known to jest.”

  Rory narrowed his gaze on his friend. “Do ye mean to tell me that we’re going to walk straight past King Edward and his court and all of his men and help ourselves to his treasury?”

  David shook his head and sat back, a smile playing at his lips. He clearly enjoyed holding them in suspense. “The king, his household, and his treasury have moved to York. They are positioning themselves on the Scottish border. The truce is coming to an end.”

  Rory shrugged. “The king may not be in residence, but someone is. It hasn’t been left empty.”

  “Ye’re right. The palace of Westminster is far from empty. ‘Tis full to the brim with philanderers and drunks.”

  “I do not understand,” Alex said.

  “Apparently, some things are beyond even Edward’s control,” David began. “Ye see, he could not appoint a proper keeper. The job passed into the hands of its hereditary keeper, a man by the name of John Francis Bigge who also holds the keepership of Fleet prison through his wife, Joan. At first John took little interest in his newfound responsibility. In fact, he installed a deputy named Martin Wilkins in his stead while he and his wife maintained their residence in the city. But in the absence of real authority, Martin quickly turned the king’s palace into a den for sport.”

  “What kind of sport?” Alex asked.

  “The salacious kind. And do ye ken what John did when he discovered Martin’s debauchery?”

  “He reprimanded him?” Alex offered

  David shook his head. “He packed his trunks, bid farewell to his wife, and joined Martin and all his scandalous companions in the palace.” David leaned forward, a hungry glint in his eyes. “’Tis overrun with unsavory souls whose appetites for drink, women, and song are insatiable.”

  “What of the guard?” Rory asked.

  “They, too, have joined the revelry, along with several monks from the neighboring abbey.”

  Rory sat back, allowing David’s news sink in. “So, the keeper is careless and seeks not to guard the King’s palace but to exploit it for what it’s worth.” He turned and smiled at Alex. “That changes everything.”

  Alex spoke up then. “But ye just said that Edward took his treasury with him to York. What is there left to steal?”

  “Little remains of worth in the palace itself, but the king has treasure hidden away in the adjoining abbey.”

  Rory looked at David skeptically. “Surely the monks guard this treasure.”

  “As I said, many of the monks have proven to be incapable of resisting the temptations offered at court. In fact, the monks’ disregard for their vows is how we came by this news. Word reached the abbot. He had no recourse but to send a man into the heart of the palace to be his eyes and ears.”

  Rory narrowed his eyes on David. “Ye’re relying on only one man’s account? Are ye certain this man is reliable?”

  David looked at Rory with surprise. “Have ye ever known one of Scotland’s agents to be unreliable?”

  Rory shook his head. “Nay, but we’ve also never attempted anything so risky.”

  David sat back, an easy smile on his face. “Then rest assured. The man the abbot entrusted to spy on the workings of the king’s palace is none other than yer older brother, Alec.”

  Rory threw his head back and whooped. “So, Alec is behind all this?”

  David nodded. “The heist is his idea.”

  A slow smile crossed Rory’s lips. Alec’s involvement fueled his confidence. “Is he still in London?”

  “Nay, he’s made his excuses to his reveling companions and is awaiting us at the Harborage.”

  “What’s the Harborage?” Alex asked.

  Rory smiled at her. “Ye’ve not heard of the Harborage?”

  “Nay.”

  “It would seem the abbot has been truly remiss,” Rory said, reaching across to take her hand. “The Harborage is…well…ye’ll see.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alex trudged through the dark woods, pulling her horse behind her. Thick underbrush obscured the ground, snagging at her tunic and cloak. Summer’s sky warded off true night, allowing her to easily follow David, keeping his cloaked figure in sight.

  “The Harborage is a safe haven,” Rory said in a low voice behind her. “A place of meeting and rest for Scotland’s agents. There is no road except that which we make ourselves”

  Alex heard the stream before she saw it running alongside a line of tall slim pines, which rose high above the thicket. Then the underbrush began to thin out. Lush trees, silvery in the twilight, formed a canopy overhead. As the stream widened, the earth dipped in downward swells. Oak and pine gave way to tall, slim birch trees.

  “I wonder why Abbot Matthew never told me about this place? He knows I have an appreciation for wild beauty.” She scurried down the slope and through a copse of silver trees and stepped into an open glade alight with torch fire. Her mo
uth dropped open the instant after a man broke the surface of a glistening pool, clad in naught but his dripping wet hose. Fire and moonlight reflected off his wet muscles. She gasped, turning away, only for her gaze to settle on the shirtless form of another man seemingly asleep beneath a tree. She chuckled and turned to Rory. “It would seem the abbot sought to shield my maiden eyes.” Then she stepped toward the gorgeous, dripping wet man. “Good evening, I’m Alex MacKenzie.”

  The man’s black eyes locked with hers. A chill crept up her spine. His eyes shone like dark moons amid an empty pale sea. They were cold and emotionless. She waited for him to respond, but he only stared at her, penetrating her very soul. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze free from his hold. Her eyes traveled down his slick, lean shoulders and long, sinewy chest, still glistening with rivulets of water. Her gaze paused on the defined lines that crossed diagonally from his hips then disappeared beneath his low-slung, wet hose. Whoever he was, he was intense and beautifully made. Steeling her courage, her gaze returned to his stony yet exquisite face. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak, but then without a word, he turned and walked away from her.

  Rory gently grabbed her arm. “My brother is a hard man to understand. I beg ye, do not be offended. He doesn’t mean to be so callous. Wait here, please,” he said before turning and following after who she now realized was Alec MacVie.

  Rory charged after Alec. His brother had better have a good excuse for his rudeness. Not that Rory had expected Alec to greet Alex with conventional niceties. In fact, Alec had never been particularly nice. He was one of Rory’s three older brothers. He also had one younger brother and an older sister. As siblings, they shared common traits. Each one possessed a fierce loyalty to family. They strove to live honorably, and none doubted their own self-worth, something instilled in their hearts by their parents. But beyond those deeply rooted convictions, they were all different—no one more so than Alec. He had always been quiet and reserved, even as a child, but it was not only Alec’s temperament that set him apart from his other siblings. Alec had the Sight. His dreams revealed that which had already come to pass and that which had yet to be. But more than that, he could feel truth. He could feel another’s pain.

  Over the years, those who discovered Alec’s abilities had called it a gift, although Rory had never understood their thinking. He likened it more to a burden. Alec moved through life, shielding himself from other’s emotions. And his dreams seldom revealed anything other than heartbreak. Most often he saw death, destruction, or the wickedness in people’s hearts. In fact, the day King Edward invaded Berwick, Rory and his sister had left the city limits to gather herbs. Alec had refused to join them. Their elder sister, Rose, pressed him again and again to say why he wouldn’t join them. When he finally yielded, he confessed his dream from the night before. Rory could still remember the rare glimpse of feeling in Alec’s eyes when he revealed that Berwick, their beloved city, had erupted into flame. Not believing Alec’s dream contained an explicit meaning, Rose had begged him to join their walk, but Alec refused and went to the chapel to pray. That was where he was, in the chapel, when King Edward put the city under the blade and torch. Alec witnessed it all, the brutal slaughter of thousands—men, women, and children. None were spared, and only a few remained hidden. People were dragged from their homes and churches and butchered in the streets; not even the clergy was spared. Alec managed to escape the English blades, though he was, by no means, unscathed. After the massacre, he retreated further into himself, becoming quieter, harder.

  Rory caught up to his brother. “Alec, explain yerself. That was rude—even for you.”

  Alec stopped and turned around. A flash of emotion crossed his usual mask of indifference—just for an instant. Someone who did not know Alec as well as Rory would have missed it. Immediately, tension flooded Rory’s shoulders. It was never good when Alec lost control of his emotions.

  “What is it?” Rory urged, his heart pounding.

  Alec did not answer. He only looked at his brother, his black eyes cold, empty.

  “Alec!”

  “I have seen her face before,” he said finally. “Last night in my dreams.”

  Fear surged through Rory. His mind went straight to the worst. “Please say ye didn’t see her die.”

  “I didn’t see her die,” Alec said, his voice flat.

  Rory expelled the breath he’d been holding.

  “I saw her funeral.”

  He stumbled back, feeling as if he had just received a blow to the gut. He looked to his brother, but received no comfort in his bleak eyes. His mind raced. He turned and stormed toward Alex.

  “Come on, I’m taking ye home,” Rory said, grabbing her by the arm.

  She yanked free from his grasp. “What are ye talking about? Why would I go home?”

  Rory raked his hand through his hair. Then he seized her, gripping her shoulders and looked her hard in the eye. “Because ye’re going to die.”

  She pulled free and backed away. “Rory, what’s come over ye?”

  “Ye’re going to die—My brother saw it.”

  “How could yer brother possibly know I’m going to die?”

  “He has dreams, visions. I ken ‘tis hard to believe, but he sees what is to come and senses what others cannot.”

  She froze, her heart quickening. “He has the Sight?” she said, weakly.

  Rory nodded to confirm.

  Her mouth ran dry. She believed in the mysteries of the world and that the power of God moved through certain people. Alex turned and looked at Alec sitting alone beneath the tree. The moonlight made his straight, black hair gleam. It fell long, well past his shoulders and down his back. Having sensed her gaze, he lifted his head slightly. They locked eyes and a shiver crept up her back. He certainly had the feel of the fae. She crossed the glade, which shone silvery in the moonlight, and stood in front of him. He did not look at her, nor did he acknowledge her presence in anyway. Her eyes followed a path over the chiseled muscles of his bare shoulders. He was long and lean, less powerfully built than Rory, but she remembered how he had moved out of the water like something smooth and seamless, and yet so strong.

  Slowly, she sat down beside him and studied his profile. His face was stony without appearing hard. She could describe him as impassive, but even that didn’t quite capture his essence. He withstood her scrutiny without flinching, without an expressive display of any kind—as though he were a fine statue carved from beautiful stone—but there was nothing still about him. Alex could sense the whirl of his mind.

  “Ye fight to contain it all inside of ye, don’t ye,” she whispered. “Ye don’t want anyone to see.”

  She was not surprised when he continued to stare off into some distant place her own eyes could not see.

  She tapped her hands on her knees. “So, ye’re Alec, and I’m Alex—that could get confusing,” she said, chuckling, but the sound of her awkward mirth trailed off into silence.

  Finally, she blurted. “So ye saw me die.”

  This time the slightest movement caught her eye—an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  When he spoke, she started at the sound, having grown accustomed to his silence. “Not your death. Only your funeral.”

  “Do you believe I will die?”

  “Yes,” he said coolly. “We will all die one day.”

  She considered his words and realized he was telling her that he did not know.

  He shifted his head, and they locked eyes. She froze beneath the weight of his black gaze. “Follow the command of yer own heart, Alex, just as ye’ve always done. It’s brought ye this far, hasn’t it?” Then he stood and strode off, disappearing into the woods.

  She sat for a moment, feeling shaken to her core and yet oddly at peace.

  Rory came to stand beside her. “Alec has a strange effect on everyone,” he said knowingly.

  She looked up at him, not having heard his approach. Confident words left her lips almost of their own bidding,
as if her very heart spoke without consulting her mind. “My place is with ye, right here, fighting for Scotland.”

  Rory shook his head. “’Tis to dangerous.”

  “I know I may die, but so might we all. Our lives are in God’s hands.”

  Rory shook his head harder. “Alex—”

  “What if it had been ye, Rory?” She said, cutting him off. “What if Alec had dreamed about ye? Would ye go find a rock to hide beneath?”

  Rory turned his back to her and raised his clenched fists above his head, growling before he turned back around. He released a long breath and met her gaze. “Nay,” he said softly. “I would not.”

  She nodded and accepted his offered hand. “I have made my choice. I fight with ye.”

  He kissed her hand. “I will never seek to control ye, Alex.” A smile broke the serious lines of his face. “Not that I could, even if I tried.”

  She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Thank ye for accepting me as I am,” she said softly.

  He pressed her hand against his heart. “I’m terrified something is going to happen to ye, and ye know how I feel about being afraid.”

  “Don’t think about it. Run with me headlong into the fray. Alba gu bràth,” she whispered.

  He gently ran his fingers down her cheek. “Alba gu bràth,” he said softly.

  David cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “We have to discuss our plan.”

  Alex gestured toward the place in the woods where Alec had disappeared. “What about Alec? Will we not wait for his return?”

  David shook his head. “He’s told me everything we need to know, which is all the support he can provide. His work within the king’s palace is not yet done. He cannot risk his true identity being discovered.”

  Alex and Rory joined David and two other men by the fire.

  “Alex, this is Paul and over there is Nick.”

  Alex smiled at Paul. He was the shirtless slumberer she had spied when first entering the glade. He appeared to be only a year or two older than she. His wet brown hair hung in soft curls around warm, dark eyes, which crinkled when he smiled in return. Nick, on the other hand, didn’t even look up. His blond hair was also still wet from bathing. It was slicked back, and his eyes remained downcast while he ran a wet sharpening stone over his dirk.