“We’ll stop at the inn for the night,” Greer shouted, as they turned right. The evening had darkened abruptly, and Barra was gripping the saddle, frightened that the horse would wander off the path. Luke, hands loosely holding the reins from behind, seemed undisturbed.
“Black Cloud’s a fine horse,” he told her. “Never goes off the path.”
“Thank you,” Barra murmured. “I’m glad to hear it.
He laughed. “We’ll soon be at the inn, having a hearty supper,” he assured her, making her heart soften. “And won’t that be grand! It’s bitterly cold out here.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “It shall.”
They did, as he had promised, arrive at the inn fairly soon. The lantern over the door was lit, spilling orange light in profusion onto the doorstep. Barra walked as slowly as she could, trying to keep pace with Luke.
“Easy, lass,” he chuckled, as she took root in the pathway. “It’s just up those stairs, see?”
Barra nodded. She would not allow feeling foolish to persuade her to wander far away. Her safety depended on keeping close to Luke until reaching home. She was not about to risk anything else.
“Come on, men,” Luke called as the other soldiers dismounted, leaving their mounts in the stables. “Let’s get inside, and look lively! I’ll not have his lordship having to pay for what we break or to answer for our bad behavior.”
Amid a gale of laughs and jokes, they drifted inside.
Barra felt sadness flow through her as she looked around. Mercifully, it was not the inn where she and Brodgar had stayed. To see the place again, without him, would have grown her sense of sorrow until she would have been unable to hold back her tears.
As it was, she walked silently into the taproom, her heart sore. Alexander and Luke stood back for her politely, letting her slip into the seat first. Luke sat beside her, Alex opposite. They were, it seemed, more than aware enough of the threat of Greer.
“A tankard of ale each!” Greer called to the innkeeper’s wife as he sat down at the bench. He smirked at Barra. “Or whatever lasses drink.”
“She’ll drink what she pleases,” Luke said frostily. “Or his lordship will hear of your behavior.”
Barra looked away, feeling the air around the table freeze up as Greer and Luke stared at one another. Luke’s eyes held Greer’s, hard and uncompromising and Greer was forced to lower his gaze.
Barra swallowed hard, and tried not to glance down the table to where he sat. When the innkeeper’s wife came up, carrying the tankards of ale, her glance lifted and she winced as she caught Greer’s stare.
He was looking at her with a stare burning with hate.
Swallowing, she looked swiftly away. Her heart thumped with alarm. She glanced sideways at Luke for assurance. He was drinking, his attention diverted. He had, she noticed, moved himself closer to her, which made her feel a little safer. As long as he was here, she would be safe.
She shuddered. If he were to leave her even for a second, she had no doubt that Greer would act.
Her skin crawled. She couldn’t stay here for any longer than strictly necessary. It was too frightening to know that one man – or perhaps three men – were all that stood between her and horrible violence.
“Luke,” she whispered, trying to get his attention. He was watching the other two men playing with a set of dice, laying money on who would make the highest throw. His face was at rest and she thought that the ale had done more than simply warm him. “Luke!”
“Yes?” he asked. Instantly the relaxed expression changed, becoming alert and watchful. “What’s the matter?”
“Luke,” she whispered, leaning closer so Greer would not overhear. “Where are we going to sleep?”
“You will sleep upstairs, in a bedchamber. Of your own,” he added, raising a brow as if he had understood her unspoken fears. “We’re going to sleep in the loft. Cheaper up there,” he added with a grin. “And nobody’ll complain if I snore.”
She smiled. She really was becoming fond of him. She had no brothers, but she imagined this was what it might have been like, had she done so. “I’m sure you don’t snore,” she said fondly. She looked into his eyes. They were chestnut brown, a shade lighter than his hair.
“Don’t lay any wagers,” he grinned. “Speaking of which…Alex, if you don’t stop, you’re going to be working for Greer next month – your whole wage will be going to him.”
Alex looked up with a sleepily-contented expression. The dice lay on the table between them. “Not if I wager that his dice are loaded,” he said.
Greer rounded on him furiously, but Luke and the others were laughing so hard that he had to smile, putting the dice back into the bag.
“It’s a wager I’ll only take for a month’s work,” he said lightly.
Alex’s smile drooped visibly, and the others stopped laughing. Greer took a sip of his ale, seemingly relaxed. Alex put his hand down on the table.
“One wager I will take is that we’ll all have sore heads tomorrow,” he said, gesturing at the ale pots, which were large clay vessels, holding a quarter of a bucket of ale each.
“We should do our best not to,” Luke said lightly. “You know we’re here to do a job.”
“Yes,” Greer nodded. He looked across at Barra, as if he resented having to escort her. She looked at the table.
“I am going to pay for our accommodation,” Luke said into the silence, then, as Barra’s heart almost stopped, he turned to her. “Would you accompany me, Miss Hume?” he asked. “I’d like somebody to check I’m not short-changed.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The others were silent, even Greer, who seemed persuaded – for the moment, at least – to watch his words. Barra pushed her chair back and followed Luke to the inn hallway.
“Take this key,” he said, turning to Barra with the large iron key – a simple thing, with two teeth to lift the locking pegs – and nodding. “Go straight upstairs. It’s on the left. I’ll come by on my way up and knock on the door, to check you’re in there. You needn’t open it. Don’t open to anybody until tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”
“Aye, it is,” she murmured. “And, Luke…thank you.” She lowered her eyes.
“Don’t mention it,” he said. “I’d not like harm to come to ye.”
Barra held his gaze and her heart softened towards him. She reached out to squeeze his shoulder and he blushed.
“Goodnight,” he murmured. “Goodnight, Barra.”
“Goodnight, Luke,” she said softly.
The stairwell was in darkness, but she walked up and to the left, shutting the door and locking it swiftly behind her. Once it was locked, she leaned against it with a sigh. It was the first time in the whole day that she felt safe.
“I am so grateful for Luke,” she whispered.
She sat down on the bed. Her spine ached and her legs were bruised and sore. She winced, rubbing her thigh. She didn’t know how she would feel tomorrow.
“It was a long ride, for somebody who has never ridden.”
She sighed. Her eyelids drooped and she leaned back on the pillows, feeling so weary. The room was orderly, a fire burning in the grate. It was not particularly attractive – nothing beyond the necessities – but compared to sleeping in the cold it was wonderful. She shrugged out of her dress, feeling in her pocket as she found a weight there. It was the ring, and she placed it on the table and washed her face and hands in the basin of water she found there. Then she climbed into bed.
She looked around the room, eyes drooping from exhaustion. The ring glowed softly in the firelight and she felt her heart ache.
“Brodgar,” she murmured. “Wherever you are, be safe.”
She shut her eyes and tried to sleep, but all she saw before her mind’s eye was Brodgar. She could not get his slim, strong face out of her thoughts. His dark eyes looked at her, filled with such tenderness her heart could melt.
“Stay safe,” he whispered to her in her remembering.
She felt her eyes open as she blinked back tears. “Stay safe,” she whispered to him.
As she fell asleep, her lips lifted in a smile as she recalled the feeling of his arms around her, and the way his lips had clung to hers with so much feeling and she knew, then, that he had never wished to leave. It was a good thought to carry over to sleep.
Surprise
Brodgar held the reins, focusing on the ride. He was trying to ignore the dull ache in his heart. Beside him, the messenger rode resolutely, seeming to ignore the intermittent rain, the tiredness and the temperature.
“It’s freezing,” Brodgar muttered.
His companion turned around in the saddle, nodding. “Aye, it is, sir.”
Brodgar looked away, feeling annoyed. It would have been agony enough to ride away from Barra, he thought numbly. Anything else added to it was only a minor pain. Even his sorrowful companion and his mumbled response was like a thin layer of ice over the freezing lake waters of pain in his heart.
“I wish I knew she was safe.”
That, Brodgar thought, trying to ignore the pain that consumed him, was what bothered him. He didn’t want to believe that within the few days they spent together, he had become so used to her company that he missed it this much. He didn’t want to think that, or to consider that the numb pain in his chest was because of his sorrowful heart.
I’m just worried, is all.
He sighed and leaned back in the saddle and focused on the land around him.
They were riding uphill now, the forest dense and more pine than oak. He looked around, not feeling particularly interested in the landscape, only wishing to give himself another reason to be awake. The land was rocky, the path lined here and there with gray stones. The pine trees soared overhead, the wind hissing in the boughs, making a sibilant music.
“We should stop at a fort, sir.”
Brodgar shrugged. “It’s three hours before nightfall, Lewis. We needn’t stop.”
“Mayhap,” Lewis replied. Brodgar found his disrespect annoying. If it wasn’t bad enough to have been hauled back to the castle, just as he was starting to make a name for himself, being called back by Lewis was worse by far.
The man has no manners.
Brodgar sighed. He had become accustomed to being treated as an equal by his own men. Now, with soldiers who knew his true identity, he either grew impatient with their deference, or expected obedience. He had lost the balance of command he had been raised to have.
“How far until the fort?” Brodgar shouted up. The man was only five paces ahead up the hill, but with the hiss of the wind in the trees, it was hard to hear.
“Two hours ride, sir.”
“Let’s stop there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brodgar nodded to himself. He would feel better if they stopped – there was something about these woods that unnerved him. Riding alone, with only one companion, was never a sensible plan.
I’ll be glad to be inside walls.
He looked down as his horse snorted, and patted his neck to reassure him. The forest was quiet – too quiet for him to feel relaxed.
“Whose fort is it?” he called back to Lewis, as he rode up to join him. The path was still steep, but here and there it leveled out in its climb ever upward, to the summit of the slopes.
“It’s McAlder’s. He’s expecting us.”
“Good,” Brodgar called back. The man was ever an ally of his uncle’s. He could expect to be safe.
At least I know where we’re going.
He breathed in and patted his horse as he shied from something in the path, the mist that was starting to fall clearly confusing him. “It’s alright, lad. Soon we’ll be safe enough.”
He hoped that his words were true.
As they rode to the right, following the path that curved about the hillside in a series of twists, an uncomfortable thought occurred. Who had told them at the garrison to expect them? When?
“Lewis?”
“Aye, sir?”
“You said we were expected. Why is that?”
“Your uncle sent riders to tell them, sir.” Lewis said, looking up at him unperturbed. “You will likely meet up with his soldiers there – I don’t think they’ll have departed yet.”
“Good,” Brodgar commented. It felt better to know they would be riding with a larger company. He was glad he had left the majority of his men with Barra – her danger was much more acute than his. Thinking of her hurt him, and so he looked down at his hands, dressed in leather riding gloves, gripping his reins.
“Not so long, now.”
He would be glad to be inside.
They were reaching the more perilous slopes when he heard it. A shot whistled out of the darkness and Lewis shouted in alarm.
“Get down!” Brodgar shouted. He threw himself from his horse, grabbing at Lewis as he dismounted and forcing him to the ground.
Another crossbow bolt rattled overhead.
“We should go back,” Lewis gasped. “We’re surrounded, sir.”
Brodgar nodded grimly. They weren’t surrounded, or not quite – the path downhill was still open behind them. As a third bolt rattled through the leaves, making the horses snort angrily, Brodgar found himself thinking quickly. They were certainly being ambushed. He had an idea.
“Go!” he yelled at his horse, giving it a push on the withers that made the creature neigh, then turn and run down the path. Brodgar nodded. “And you, too,” he said, sending Lewis’ horse running down too.
“Are you losing your wits?” Lewis challenged. An older man, his face seamed by many years battling on cold, windy battlefields, he rounded on Brodgar. “How will we escape?”
“If you shut your face, we won’t have to,” Brodgar hissed. “Lie down.” He tugged his sleeve. “And do try to lie down out of the way.”
Brodgar crawled off the path, as if in example, and lay flat behind the bole of a tree. The mist was thick now, and the tendrils of it helped to hide him. He glanced up to see that Lewis had likewise disappeared.
None too soon.
“Where did the blackguards go?” somebody called loudly. He heard boots on the path not an inch from his head. He lay very still, keeping out of the way.
“That way. And mind you don’t get shot, Mark,” a voice said with some amusement. “They could have arrows too.”
“Why would they?” The first soldier – Mark – replied. “They were riding horses. You ever seen a man fire a crossbow from horseback?”
“No.”
As the men stamped down the path, Brodgar listened to their speech. Some parts were hard for him to follow, though some words were so similar to Lowland Scots he found it easy. He counted the pairs of feet and thought he had heard six.
Where has Lewis gone? He thought with some annoyance.
It was cold on the ground, and the mist was condensing on his cloak, making it wet, and on his hair and beard. He shivered. If they didn’t risk moving soon, they would lose any advantage they had, simply dying of cold instead of being killed.
“Lewis?”
He heard no answer. He waited, thinking quickly. How likely was it that they would all march away so swiftly? As he froze, his thoughts were answered, as a seventh pair of feet marched down.
He lay where he was, counting in his head. By the time he had reached twenty, he risked sitting up. It was too cold to lie on the ground any longer. Freezing, shivering, he leaned on the bole of a tree and tried to make fists of his hands and swore.
“Bollocks.”
Even with the gloves and the new thick cloak his men had brought for him, he was freezing. He counted to twenty again, his hand on his sword hilt. He at least now had the advantage of surprise. When nobody came, he walked around the tree trunk onto the path.
“Lewis?” he hissed.
Nobody answered. He stood on the pathway, feeling panic mix with a sort of mirth. Trust Lewis to take his command to hide this seriously! He would be lucky if the man surfaced before
summer.
“Lewis!” he said, risking a loud tone. “Get out of here! If we don’t leave now, they’ll come back. And it’s better if we get out now before they find the horses and come back here to find us.”
He waited. Just as, shivering, he came to the conclusion that Lewis had been killed, something stirred behind him. Somebody erupted from the trees.
“Sir! Sir! Get down! They’ll see you standing in the path.”
Brodgar grunted as Lewis cannoned into him, pushing him off before he’d had a chance to think about it.
“Lewis, you daft man,” he said, not sure if he should laugh or cuff the man for almost scaring him to death. “We need to move quickly. Let’s go.”
“Aye, sir. We do.” Lewis, his dagger drawn, fell into step with Brodgar as together they descended down the path.
The mist was thick now, and Brodgar leaned against his companion, not wanting to risk losing him or confusing him with an assailant. It was too fog-swathed for him to see a hand before his face. The path under their feet was lost below the blanket of fog.
Brodgar felt with his feet as the path changed texture, becoming stony and slippery as they reached the steep section. He braced himself and slithered down, calling guidance to Lewis to hold onto something.
They made their way, inch by perilous inch, downhill.
“Who do you think that was, sir?” Lewis asked. They had been walking for half an hour. It was getting dark as well now, and the visibility was terrible. Brodgar was starting to regret sending their horses down, but at least the ruse had worked. A nagging worry weighed on him – what would they do when the men decided to turn back? So far, they hadn’t needed to answer it.
“I think it was English soldiers,” Brodgar spat at his boot tops furiously. “Though how and why, I have no idea.”
“Who sent them?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t know,” Brodgar admitted, and that was the part that really worried him. How was it that, on a trip known only to him, his uncle and the household guard, the English had known where to lie in wait for them?
Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5) Page 7
