Protection By Her Deceptive Highlander (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 5)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “My uncle wants to move on, to finish the march we were doing yesterday.” She could tell by the bitter tone in his words that he thought that was a bad idea. She waited while he gathered his thoughts. “I think we should go back. Something about that attack felt wrong to me.”

  “I see.” Barra said nothing else. Any attack would seem wrong, she thought, but yet she knew what he meant. If there was no way that the enemy could have been forewarned enough for an ambush, it seemed odd that there was one. She could see in his concern that he thought so too.

  “I want to go back, so we can discuss what happened. The men are not happy. They also think something untoward is afoot.”

  Barra nodded. She could sense a hostile feeling among the men. Even their reluctance to help her at the healer’s tent struck her as odd. The only friendly man she’d met all morning had been the fellow with the cooking pot.

  “I agree,” she said. She looked up at him, feeling her heart tighten. He looked so worried, and that worried her too.

  “I have perhaps half the men behind me, perhaps less than half,” he added sadly. “Now we just have to wait until the decision is settled.”

  “I see,” Barra murmured.

  “I sometimes want to ask my uncle…” he stopped. “Sorry,” he shrugged.

  “What?” Barra frowned. She could see how weary he was, and the frustration in every line of him, from his clenched fist to the tightness at the corners of his generously lipped mouth.

  “I don’t want to scare you,” he said softly. “You’ve done such a grand job with the wounded.”

  She shook her head. “It’s nothing – really. I was glad I could be here.”

  “I am glad you’re here.”

  They looked at each other. They were standing at the top of a slope, the wounded men siting about a makeshift hearth, playing a game with coins. They were practically alone up here, out of earshot of any other being.

  Barra took a step forward as Brodgar reached for her hand. His arms came around her and she sighed as his lips touched hers, his body pressed hungrily against her as her hands buried themselves in his thick hair.

  “Barra,” he murmured. His lips found hers again, clinging and insistent. She parted her lips gently, and his tongue tasted her. She shut her eyes.

  Her body was aflame, each part of her aching for him, each fiber of her being wanting him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close and knew that she would not be able to wait much longer. She also knew that what she wanted would likely bring ruin to them both.

  He whispered in her ear. His voice was tight. “I should go. Thank you. You shouldn’t stay here,” he added, jerking his head in the direction of the field. She looked back at the wounded men, thinking that on the balance, they were probably less harm than whatever she might encounter.

  Nevertheless, as he turned and walked, long-legged, down the hill, she followed him. It was a rush to keep up, but she managed. She saw him head towards what looked like a tent of sorts, the only one still standing. That must be his uncle, she guessed. She lingered nearby, watching them.

  “Uncle,” Brodgar began. She saw the man look up from where he worked the edge of his dagger, his thin face unreadable.

  “Nephew. Are you wondering what to do around the camp?”

  Barra saw Brodgar flinch, as if he had just been struck. She understood his reaction – his uncle had spoken to him as if he was a pot boy, not his own nephew and co-leader. She watched through narrowed eyes, her heart aching.

  “I know what I’m doing in the camp,” Brodgar said, and his voice was confident and quiet. “I was coming to determine the outcome of the decision. We have to move soon – I was wondering where the men have elected to go.”

  Barra saw his uncle look up from the knife blade again. His expression was unguarded for a moment, and she saw annoyance there. She felt her own private gladness to see him disconcerted for a heartbeat.

  “I believe the men are still making their choice. Callum?”

  An older man with a gray-edged beard came forward. Barra watched Brodgar tense, and guessed that he was not one of his supporters.

  “Callum? What is the decision?”

  “The men are still divided, sir.” He sounded uncertain.

  “Well?” the laird snapped. “How do most of them choose?”

  “It is not certain yet,” the older man said cautiously. Barra thought that he was trying to convey the idea that the laird should not ask again.

  “I think we need to remind the men that they should come to decisions speedily!” he said. He shot a look at Brodgar. She shivered. Then, without looking back, his uncle walked to the center of the field.

  “Tell the men we march north,” he said in a loud voice, confident he would be obeyed.

  An odd silence met his orders, and Barra saw his uncle look disconcerted for the first time. She felt a flicker of hope in her own chest. Had the men decided to follow Brodgar? She ached to hear the answer, and to have it be so.

  His uncle looked at him as if he wished to kill him. Barra felt her skin crawl as she saw that naked hatred shine in his eyes, for once plain to see. Then, before he could react, the men started to stand up and walk towards the South road, where Brodgar wanted them to go.

  Barra let out a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. His uncle might hate him more now, but the men had decided. They were going back home.

  Going Back

  Barra looked around from the back of a horse, feeling the same sickening unease she had felt the first time she had ridden. She glanced ahead, to where Brodgar’s back was ramrod straight among the others. She took a deep breath and tried to think about something other than how sick she felt.

  “At least we are going back,” she murmured to herself.

  The camp had dissembled more seamlessly than she could have imagined, and she followed the small knot of men who rode with Brodgar at their head. She could feel the relief of the soldiers around them, but she could also feel a foreboding – as if part of her expected danger.

  It’s that uncle of his.

  She glanced at the straight back of his uncle, the laird. He was riding a little away from the group, flanked by Callum and another man whose name she didn’t recall. The group were like a simmering coal pit, resentment and anger heating the air around them despite their distant, cold appearance. The man was never going to forgive Brodgar for taking the lead.

  Barra glanced back to Brodgar, and wished there was something she could do to keep him safe. She knew how much danger he was in. His uncle would stop at nothing, she thought, to bring him down.

  They rode up the slope. The men were subdued, she thought – no smiles or whistles anywhere, as if they felt the same unease.

  The day grew hotter as they rode. It was not just the slope and the exertion, the sunlight broke through the clouds at midday and shone down on them and she wished she could take off her gray cloak. The heat was just another layer of oppressiveness in the strange, tense silence.

  “Barra?” a voice said at her elbow. Her head jerked up, surprised, and she realized that Brodgar had remained back a little from the main party to speak with her. She cleared her throat, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

  “We’re going well,” she said, jerking her head to indicate the men around them. “Is all as it ought to be?”

  He nodded. “Seemingly.”

  She looked at the deep frown lines on his forehead, and wondered what he meant by that. Something was worrying him deeply. She rode silently beside him for a while, knowing that he would eventually tell her. As they crossed the top of the hill, following the ridge up towards the castle, he began.

  “I don’t like that ambush…something felt wrong.”

  “What sort of thing?” Barra asked, heart thudding worriedly.

  He glanced upwards at his uncle, who was riding with his back to them, just out of earshot. “I think that it was a bit too convenient,” he said. “It gave him a good chanc
e to call me into question.”

  Barra raised her brow. That sounded a little, well…extreme to her. She knew his uncle was by no means an honest person, but, to actively attack a party of his own men? To risk killing members of his own garrison? That sounded strange.

  “Would he do that?” she asked bluntly.

  Brodgar shrugged. “Look over there – he’d love to have discredited me right now…you cannot say it wouldn’t mean a lot to him.”

  Barra nodded slowly. Brodgar’s uncle was riding with his back to them, but in that moment he turned around and the look in his eyes as he looked at Brodgar was so chilling that Barra looked instantly away.

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  It was clear that Brodgar’s uncle was trying to discredit him with the troops – everything he did suggested it. Yet, to maim his own fighting troops?

  Think, a small voice of reason said. How many dead were there? How many severe injuries? If this was a real ambush, don’t you think there would have been at least one casualty?

  She nodded, considering that fact. Of the men she had treated, a few had arrow wounds, but none of them had been shot lethally. The worst wound she saw by far was the man with the arrow wound in the leg, and even he was mending. None of them were fatally hit.

  “And the smoke,” she said out loud.

  “Yes. No fire. I noticed that, too,” Brodgar commented.

  There had been a few men who had inhaled the choking smoke, but nobody had been burned and, more importantly, when she had followed them to the camp, she had neither seen nor heard any sign of fire.

  There would have been charred trees. It was a pine forest – admittedly a damp one at this time of year, but nevertheless, any fire there would have been more severe.

  “What can we do?” she whispered.

  Brodgar raised a brow. Oddly, he looked almost cheerful, as if he’d come to find it all amusing. “Not much we can do, is there?” he said. “Except hope to catch one of them in the deception.”

  Barra nodded. “I suppose,” she murmured.

  She rode on slowly, head reeling with too many thoughts. The sunlight was high overhead now, and the day was warmer. They rode uphill again, and Barra felt exhausted by the unfamiliar swaying motion. Brodgar rode ahead and she rode behind, silent.

  It was as they neared the castle that the first signs of something wrong became apparent. Barra stiffened. A rider was approaching, one of the scouts Brodgar had sent ahead of them.

  “Sir! Sir!” he shouted, breathless, as he rode up. He drew to a sharp halt, saluting first Brodgar and then, belatedly, his uncle. Barra wondered briefly what the Laird would do, but then all her attention focused again on the messenger.

  “What is it?” Brodgar asked. He was instantly alert, his eyes keen and piercing.

  “Sir…” the messenger was panting, leaning on the side of his horse. “We can’t get to the castle. It’s surrounded.”

  “What?” This was the laird. He sounded truly appalled. This, Barra thought, could not be his doing. Nobody could act the sudden white pallor, the mix of outrage and fear that she saw on his face.

  “Sir. Forgive me for bad tidings, but…the castle is surrounded. At least, on the front and side entrance. We cannot approach.”

  “You’re lying!” his uncle whispered. Barra saw the man flinch. She was close enough to see how gray he was with weariness and fear.

  “He has no call to be false,” Brodgar said, cutting across his uncle’s fury.

  The messenger looked at him thankfully and Barra felt admiration for Brodgar fill every part of her. He turned to the men who rode around him.

  “We need to halt the men,” he said. “If we stop here, we will be in cover of the trees. We are in no danger right now, but we need to plan. Call a halt. At once – before we break out through the tree line.”

  “Nephew, I command here,” his uncle cut across his words. “How dare you call my authority into question?”

  “I was doing what had to be done,” Brodgar said smoothly. “I have no doubt you would have come to the same decision – I simply reached it first.” He looked calmly at his uncle, as if he thought his response was utterly irrational.

  Barra silently applauded him even as his uncle turned away, unsure what to say. She schooled her face to neutrality before he caught the wicked grin on her face. It died away as soon as it had arisen, however, as Brodgar gave more orders.

  “Halt. We need to make a war council. This is serious. Keith,” he added as the messenger returned. “We need you. How many men did you see around the castle?”

  Barra had no idea what to do – she was caught on the edge of the war council while the men sat down uneasily in groups on the grass. She considered dismounting, but decided it was best to stay where she was than risk having to waste time remounting again.

  “…we need to lure them off,” the laird was saying.

  “And risk our men being killed? We haven’t the strength to face almost twice our number,” Brodgar countered. His face was grave.

  “Probably not even half that,” his uncle spat, casting a cutting stare at Keith. “We could lure them off with half our men, then set up an attack from within the castle.”

  “Have we siege engines? Have they?” Brodgar asked.

  “We have a ballista,” his uncle affirmed. “They don’t.”

  Keith looked up, wetting his lips. “That is true, my lord,” he said slowly.

  “You see?” his uncle snarled, his eyes triumphant. “This is all nonsense. Get into the castle, scare them off, get back to doing as we always do. Nothing to cause any concern.” He flapped a hand at the messenger, as if he was an annoyance.

  Barra tensed. Brodgar lifted his head and looked straight at his uncle. His red hair hung loose about his face and his dark eyes burned. “You have too little regard for the lives of your own soldiers,” he said. “Throwing them away to make a point seems to be nothing to you.”

  Barra took a breath. If his uncle had deliberately ambushed his own men, then he would know exactly what Brodgar meant. She waited to see if he would reveal himself.

  The laird held Brodgar’s gaze and then turned his horse away. “Callum!” he called over his shoulder. “Send out your own scouts. I want to know the exact numbers. And don’t take him with you,” he added as Keith made to ride away.

  Brodgar said nothing as three men turned away from their group, heading down the hill with speed. When they had gone, he looked at his uncle.

  “If one more man dies to prove a point, it is too many.”

  His uncle held his gaze, then laughed coldly. “You’re too soft, nephew. It’ll be your downfall.”

  Then, before anybody could say anything, he turned and rode his horse down the slope again. “I’m going to the rear,” he shouted up over his shoulder. “I need to talk with Albert and the fellows – at least they can ensure that we are not being followed.”

  Barra watched him go. When she looked up at Brodgar, she thought she had never seen him look so angry. His face was utterly expressionless. His fists, balled on the reins, quivered with rage.

  “What do we do?” she asked, riding up to join him as the men fell back, talking among themselves.

  “If we don’t get a way through there, there’ll be no castle left to go back to.” Brodgar was bitter. “This is where the force out of the garrison we were meant to storm, has gone. They’ll pull the place down if they can, or starve our own folk.”

  Barra gasped in sheer horror. She thought of the cook, of Tam…all the people, both friendly and unfriendly, that she knew. She could not begin to think that they would die for no reason. “We have to do something,” she said at once.

  “Yes…but I don’t know what.”

  Barra felt her mind fill, suddenly, with a plan. “If we ride around the rear of the castle, to the rear gate, I think I know where we can get in,” Barra said confidently. “We need to wait until nightfall. We need a force of twenty men and we need to muffle the sound of
their approach.”

  Brodgar stared at her. They had ridden away from the main party, so that they stood alone beneath a tree. Only he could hear her words, but still, Barra thought, he looked shocked on a level she hadn’t expected.

  “I know it isn’t my place,” she said to cut across his protests. “But, Brodgar…I know the way in! I can get us inside, if only you will let me.”

  “Barra, no.” He said. His face was pained. “I cannot risk you. I would face anything…but that I cannot face.”

  Barra looked away, feeling her eyes fill with sudden hot tears. She cleared her throat, unable for a moment to speak.

  “I will do anything you ask of me,” he said after a long moment. “But I cannot take you into danger. I could not live with myself if I had done aught to harm you.”

  Barra felt tears run down her cheeks. She ventured to speak only when her voice was level. “Brodgar, there is a way out of the castle. I used it when I came to find you. It’s an old way, but it will help some men to get back in. Once they’re in, well…it might not take too many to set the besiegers off.”

  Brodgar looked at her, and she felt her heart fill with pride as he stroked her neck gently. “Barra,” he said. “That is easily the best plan I have ever heard. If this works, you’ll have saved all of us. Men!” he called to the soldiers who were riding just out of earshot.

  They turned and looked at him, and he beckoned them to him. Keith was among the party, Barra noticed, and one whose face she recognized. They stood and listened while Brodgar outlined the edges of the plan. He didn’t mention her directly, but when he said that there were those among them who knew secret passageways out of the place, he looked directly at her.

  The men seemed to take to the idea more rapidly than she’d expected. Before he’d half finished, they were nodding in assent. Barra swallowed hard. She looked at Brodgar, but he had turned his horse away and she had to wait until the rest of the men had dispersed before he turned to her.