Heart Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  The ground was less moist here. The trees more established.

  This was the edge of the marshland. She was certain of it.

  I will find the road today.

  Amabel stretched out a hand, reaching out. She had gathered some edible plants the previous day – the long stems and roots of the marshmallow plant, which Aunt Aili said were good for sore throats and aching stomachs. She reached out to chew one, pulling a face. They were starchy and not unpleasant-tasting, though. And they restored strength.

  “Up we get,” Amabel said, feeling more positive. Having a full stomach – or at least not an empty one – tended to do that. She gathered the last of the roots and stepped forward. Heading southeast.

  As she walked, Amabel found herself singing.

  “Two lads, they went to market-o...”

  The rhythm of the song bore her forward. She walked in pace with it and the notes and cadence made her feel strong.

  “A-and then they came down back again...”

  She looked ahead. The trees were wide-spaced.

  She blinked. It did not seem possible. She was at the end of the woods?

  Heart pounding, Amabel quickened her pace.

  She stopped. Her whole body collapsed with relief. She was standing under an oak tree, looking down a long expanse of land. The land was solid ground, a plain that stretched toward the hills, grasses wavering. And in the distance, she could see the road.

  She wanted to weep. She wanted to dance. To give thanks.

  She dropped to her knees, saying prayers to everyone and everything she could think of. Then, laughing and crying, she collapsed.

  She lay for a few minutes, until she felt herself grow cold.

  I have to keep going.

  If she stayed still too long, she would freeze. Here in the open, the wind was ice-cold. And she could not afford to be seen.

  Hugging her cloak tightly around her, looking straight ahead, she headed for the road.

  As she did, she saw the swallows.

  Free and unbound, they swooped low overhead, dancing over land.

  She smiled.

  Lifting her arms to the heavens in wordless thanks, she felt tears lave her face. Then she walked on, arms at her sides.

  Toward the road.

  “...and the lads went on to the ma-arket once more...” she sang, voice high and wavering.

  In the distance, she saw something.

  It was a speck. A tiny fleck of movement. It was coming down the road. Faster and faster, it came.

  A man? A coach?

  As it drew closer, she could see it was a horseman. She was only fifty paces from the road. Soon, he would be close enough to see her.

  She wanted to run for cover, but she had no reserve left. She considered lying down, but to lie in the cold in her wet clothes was to court fevers. And she was not sure she could stand again.

  She covered her hair with her cloak, hoping it was a suitable disguise. Then she carried on walking.

  “...and the farmer did agree with them! The fa-a-mer did say aye!”

  She sang, her voice her guide through the weariness and pain. She was almost unconscious. But she kept walking.

  The speck wavered, grew on the horizon. Resolved itself into a horseman. A horseman who wore a long dark tunic and a green cloak. A horseman with short-cropped black hair and dark eyes.

  “Amabel?”

  On the back of his chestnut hunting-horse, Broderick stared at the plain.

  He could hear something. A voice. High, thin and sweet. It reminded him of something. Suddenly, he was in a church, exchanging vows. In the corridor, listening to two women. In the bedchamber, smiling as his wife sang and brushed long, pale hair.

  Amabel?

  He paused. Squinting, he looked out at the figure. It was a woman – tall and slender, cloaked and capped. She was walking closer and singing.

  “...and... so... the lads... went... on... a-ahead... and laughing, they did say...”

  He stared. He knew the voice. As she came closer, he saw the oval face, hollow-cheeked and weary, saw the long, slender figure.

  “Amabel!” He screamed it, joy transfusing him with energy. Then he rode forward.

  Amabel stopped moving. She heard someone shouting. Through the pounding ache in her head, she could not discern the words. It was her name.

  “Amabel!”

  She stopped. She stared. The horseman was coming straight for her.

  He had veered from the road and launched his horse toward her. He was riding fast and dangerously. He wore a long green cloak that billowed with the wind.

  “Broderick!”

  She shouted it before her mind could even believe it. But it was him. She knew it was.

  “Broderick!”

  “Amabel.”

  He halted suddenly. Before the horse had properly stopped, he threw himself from the saddle. He ran to her.

  He threw his arms around her even as she threw herself into his arms.

  He was laughing, crying, kissing her.

  “Amabel. Amabel! My dear. My dear wife...”

  Amabel laughed. “Broderick! You're here! You found me.”

  They stood together, laughing and crying and kissing and tracing hands over each other's wounds, the dirt on their brows, their aching limbs.

  Then Amabel stepped back.

  “Broderick.” She was swaying and knew she was about to collapse.

  “Yes?” Instantly concerned, he took her hand.

  She shook her head. “Do not concern yourself about me. Not for the moment. Alina. We need to... find Alina.”

  She leaned over. The message and the meeting had taken all her strength.

  Broderick bent to hold her. He lifted her up and, carefully, lifted her into the saddle, waiting until she gripped the pommel.

  “Alina?” His eyes, looking into hers, were wide with care. “Where is she? Is she here?”

  “Alina is... in danger. She's been kidnapped!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  GOING AHEAD

  GOING AHEAD

  Broderick and Amabel rode toward the town. As they rode, Amabel tried to explain. When she reached the part about Thomas MacDowell and what he had intended for her, she felt Broderick tense.

  “What?” His voice was dangerously quiet.

  “No, Broderick,” she said quietly. “Do not be angry. We must act, first. There is time to set this to rights.”

  Broderick leaned forward, weary. “You are right, dear. First, we must save Alina. Would he marry her at once, do you think?”

  “I do not know.” Amabel felt herself begin to cry. “It is possible. He said... he said tomorrow. And...”

  “And that was a day ago,” Broderick said quietly. “We may be too late.”

  Amabel slumped. She felt tears begin to start. “We must hope, Broderick.”

  She heard him sigh. “Yes. You are right. We must ride.”

  As they rode, he told her what he had planned. That he had sent to Dunkeld. That he had asked Keith to fetch him and bring a detachment of men. Together, they could storm the MacDowell fastness.

  “It is quite small, you say.”

  “I don't... know.” Amabel wanted to weep. She was tired. She was hungry. She was terrified. “I saw it once, through a window. It could be small. Or not. I don't know.”

  Broderick laid his hand over hers. He dismounted, to spare the horse and she nodded and let him help her down beside him.

  “I am sorry, sweetling,” he whispered. “I know you are tired. I am an idiot. I should have waited.”

  She laughed wearily. “No, you aren't, Broderick. But I am tired.”

  “You are tired, yes. And we're almost there.”

  As they walked, leading their horse to spare his strength, Amabel noticed that they were nearing a town. It was only a small village – a few cottages and a barn, an enclosure for goats. But it was warm.

  There would be food there, and fire. And shelter.

  Feeling
the tears pour down her cheeks silently, she looked up at him and smiled.

  She was saved.

  Soon, they would face the MacDowells. And they would rescue Alina. And then they could go home.

  Amabel felt herself slide forward, weary with sudden relief.

  Broderick caught her in his arms and together, carefully, they walked the last few paces to the village. And fire and shelter.

  Amabel woke, sometime later. She was lying before a fire. Someone had changed her clothes, and she was dressed in a simple cotton garment that smelled of dust and rosemary but was warm and dry. She rolled over. She was warm. So warm.

  She reached out and her fingers drifted through dry straw. Someone had piled straw for her to lie on and made a small bed. She was lying before the fire, its heat melting the ice inside her.

  She sat up, feeling her face flushed with warmth.

  “Brod...” she called. Her voice was a wavering cry. She could not make it any louder if she tried. She opened her eyes.

  She looked across the open fire and to where he was already looking up.

  “Dear? Are you quite well?” he asked, moving to her side.

  Amabel smiled. “I'm tired, dear. But I am well.”

  “Good.”

  He helped her to sit and, while she leaned against his chest, he reached for a bowl of broth. He held it for her and helped her spoon it into her mouth, wiping any traces off her chin as if she were very small. She was exhausted.

  The owner of the house, a small woman with bright, twinkling eyes and a thin face, was watching them guardedly. When she saw Amabel smile and reach to finish the soup, she gestured happily.

  A child appeared, a little girl no older than ten. She brought some oat cakes. Amabel smiled. She wanted to cry.

  “Thank you.”

  She managed to eat the oatcake she took, one mouthful at a time, slowly. As she ate, strength flooded back to her. She looked around.

  “Where are we?”

  Broderick frowned. “On the edge of MacDowell land. These people are free farmers, not his tenants. They are no danger. They'll not betray us.”

  Amabel nodded. Even if these people were his tenants, she had a doubt that they would betray them unless threatened. A lord like Thomas MacDowell did not inspire any loyalty.

  “We have word of Duncan?”

  Broderick shook his head. “Not yet. I expect him this evening. I will wait by the road.”

  “I should come with you.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I cannot let you.”

  Amabel raised a brow. “I shan't die. I seem quite hardy. You might have noticed?”

  Broderick laughed. “My dear, I don't want to risk you. You have faced such...” He trailed off. “One day, you will remind me not to be so arrogant. Come with me. I cannot prevent it. Just please wear my cloak over yours. I do not want to risk you becoming chilled.”

  Amabel smiled. “Dear. I've been on the marshes for two days. I will be well...”

  As she said it, she felt herself suddenly drained and weary. As she slumped forward, she looked up at him, giving him a lopsided smile.

  “I am somewhat unconvincing.”

  Broderick kissed her. Then, after thanking the cottager and her family, he lay down beside Amabel. Covering them both with his cloak, he was soon fast asleep. Amabel slept in his arms. From that moment, he knew, he would not wish to be parted for so long ever again.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  ENTERING THE LAIR

  ENTERING THE LAIR

  The wind whipped icy fingers across Amabel, catching her cloak and buffeting it against her.

  “And you say the entrance is on the right?”

  Amabel turned to Broderick, whispering urgently. “I think so. We went left toward the great hall, which must be in the center of the fortress.”

  Duncan, silent and drawn, looked up at her. “My lady. If aught has happened to your sister... I swear I will not rest until this fortress is rubble.”

  Amabel heard the rawness in his tone. She reached a hand across to him. “She is safe. We have to know that. He would not risk harming her. Not for fear of what Uncle would do in retaliation.”

  Duncan snorted. “Well, now he has Lochlann and MacConnaway to fight.”

  Amabel nodded. Broderick nodded, too.

  “And that, according to what Amabel said, is the last thing he would have wanted.”

  “Well, he got it,” Duncan growled. “Now. Why are we waiting?”

  Amabel laughed. She couldn't help it. When she saw the emptiness in Duncan's eyes, the pain, she regretted it.

  “We need to wait until Keith returns,” Broderick reminded them. “He's scouting the way.”

  Duncan sighed. He reined in his horse, though Amabel could see the effort with which he did it. He was aching to storm the place. But they had to wait.

  A moment later, they heard a soft footfall and then a call.

  “Keith?” Broderick squinted ahead. Keith rode up, making the low, looping notes of a night-jar.

  “All clear, milord,” Keith said quietly. “Only five guardsmen there. Two on the wall. They're around the back now. Two at the door. One around the front.”

  Broderick nodded. He gestured with a finger and five men detached from the main force behind them.

  “Donald, Artair, Cam, Alisdair, Grier. And Keith.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Disable the guards. Remove the watchers.”

  The men nodded, some breathing out. They rode away, quick and silent. Like the rest of the men, they bound their horse's hoofs with rags to approach almost silently.

  The rest of the detachment waited while the men rode away. Duncan turned to them. “I will go in. Keith will come with me when he returns. We will find Lady Alina. Wait for our signal. Then, brother, you will lead?”

  Broderick nodded briefly.

  Amabel looked at him. “Duncan?”

  “Yes?” He turned to face her, tawny eyes hooded.

  “You do not know the inside of the castle. I do. At least, I do better than you. I know the way. I will come along.”

  Duncan shook his head. “No, milady. I cannot let you.”

  Broderick looked worried, too, but when he saw Amabel's stricken face, he shook his head.

  “We can't stop her.”

  Amabel gave him a broad grin. “Thank you, my dear.”

  He shook his head. “You are right. You're the one who knows the way. I don't like risking you, but I can't argue.”

  Amabel smiled. “How very nice.”

  Feeling better than she had since she could remember, Amabel squeezed his hand. Then she turned to Duncan.

  “Will we go now?”

  Duncan bit his lip. “As soon as the riders return.”

  The three of them stood and waited. The breeze was thin and icy, and Amabel shivered and drew her robe closer.

  As they waited, the riders returned. Amabel heard the hooves first, thudding on the frozen earth.

  “They are gone?”

  One of the riders, a tall, grim-faced man with a scar down the side of his face, cleared his throat and inclined his head. “Yes, milord.”

  Duncan turned around, looking to Amabel. “My lady?”

  “Yes.”

  Broderick squeezed her hand. “Be safe, my dear.”

  His voice cracked as he said it, and Amabel bit her lip. She could not quite believe she was doing this.

  “I will. You, too.”

  She looked over her shoulder as they rode to the side of the walls and he raised a hand, a gesture that respected her courage and did not drain her. She smiled and rode on.

  “You say you were kept in the turret room?”

  “Yes. I think I could tell you the way from the main hallway.”

  “Good. We must hurry. The guards will be discovered.”

  Amabel nodded. They dismounted in the shadow of the trees and then slipped, shadows among deeper shadow, to the gate.

  Duncan held open
the door and they slipped inside. Amabel did not look a the guards Keith and his men had dispersed.

  Her heart thudding in her chest, Amabel and Duncan walked on into the darkened fortress.

  “It should be this way,” Amabel whispered. She felt lost. She had to believe she knew the way. She stopped and listened. If she strained her ears, she thought she could hear voices far away, coming from the left. As they walked closer, her confidence grew. That was the great hall. They were in the entrance hall. They should go right and find the stairs.

  “This way.”

  Duncan took her hand and together they ascended the staircase.

  “Eh! Sean! Mind the step...”

  A chuckle. “I know it's there, Alec. Haud yer wheesht!”

  Amabel froze. There were guards above them. Coming down the stairs.

  She looked wildly at Duncan. He stared back an instant and then took her wrist and walked lightly back down the stairs. The two of them stood in an alcove, lost in shadow. Duncan closed his eyes to keep the shine from showing and Amabel did the same.

  “Not much happenin' the night...”

  “Good! His lordship thought there'd be fuss, but I've no' seen disturbance.”

  The two men were inches away now. Amabel shrank toward the wall and kept her eyes closed, breath even and shallow.

  “Ye ken Lord Thomas... he don't take matters lightly.”

  A chuckle. “You could say that, Alec. You could indeed.”

  Both men laughed and they stepped of the stairs, heading for the front of the building. If the guards were changing, they had a few minutes before the others came to take their place. Duncan slipped forward and beckoned to Amabel and together they fled up the stairs, heading for the top of the turret.

  When they reached a window, Duncan paused. “Can you fetch light?” he whispered to Amabel. “We need to signal.”

  Amabel nodded. She looked around and noticed a brand in a bracket on the top floor. She ran to fetch it. Holding it away from her hair to avoid burning herself, she passed it to Duncan, who held it out of the window, circled it once then twice and let it drop.

  He turned to Amabel. “We have a few minutes. We'd best run.”