by Terry Spear
“Fenton?”
Rob shook his head. “The lass told her da finally how she had broken his nose and feared retribution. Her da substituted his advisor as the seventh man.”
“Wynfield? He is nearly as old as her da!” Marcus cursed and shoved the broth aside.
“Mary said because of the border uprisings and that Lord Pembroke fears Lady Isobel will try to run away, she is being kept under guard in the keep,” Finbar said.
“Good, I am glad he is aware of what she might attempt to do.” As much as Marcus would love to see her again, he didn’t under the current circumstances.
“Lord Wynfield wishes to speak with you. He believes if you talk to the men who are battling the English, they will listen to you and the continued bloodshed will be averted.” Finbar arched a brow. “We would ride on your behalf if you wish it.”
Rob snorted. “The Scots would only listen to Marcus. He is the clan chief and the one so grievously wounded. Except he canna ride for now.”
Marcus considered his options, then smiled. “Tell Lord Pembroke I will speak on his behalf, if he will grant me the marriage to his daughter.”
His cousins both smiled at him.
“If he doesna?” Rob asked.
“The devil take him. I didna instigate this fight, and I willna stop it.”
Rob bowed to him. “I will get word to him at once.”
Rob left the room and Finbar barred the door behind him.
Marcus frowned. “I worry about him taking the message alone to Lord Wynfield.”
“Naught to worry about,” Finbar said. “Several of our allies have gathered to watch our backs. And the six that came from home are here. ‘Tis as safe as it ever is.”
Marcus just hoped that Pembroke would keep his daughter at home and safe from harm. If she learned Marcus had been injured, she would attempt to see him at great personal risk to herself, and he prayed she would not, but he knew her better.
Chapter 5
For days, Isobel had plotted and planned a way to escape the confines of the castle to find a way to see Marcus. She had given Mary coins to pay a servant to slip across the border and visit the tavern where it was reported that Marcus was staying. But they could not learn how badly injured he was, only that his cousins were staying close at hand, and several more of his clansmen had arrived to protect him. That meant he had to be injured enough that he could not fight, and she worried even more that he could be dying. She was furious with her father and everyone else who might have had a hand in this.
She wanted desperately to be with Marcus, to see for herself that he was all right and that Cantrell had not said so only to protect her feelings.
Mary slipped into Isobel’s chamber and whispered, “I know what you are thinking of doing, my lady.”
Mary would. She always knew what Isobel planned to do, sometimes even before she thought of it.
“You will help me?”
“You will leave whether I help you or no’.”
Isobel frowned at her. “Then what do you wish to tell me.”
“You are tired after your fright concerning Marcus. You will eat—”
Isobel had no appetite and hadn’t since her father had sent Marcus away.
“You will, my lady, or I willna help you.” Mary looked sternly at her, her mind made up.
“All right.”
“That way you will make an appearance in the great hall to show you are there. You will do the duties you normally perform and when your knight escort is distracted, slip back to the postern gate. You will leave by the postern gates that are being left open later than usual because of the men returning who have been wounded in the skirmishes.” Mary paused. “Cantrell, who has been going across the border to learn about Laird McEwan, asked for more coin.”
“But I have given him so much already.”
“He said he has to bribe several to keep this secret.”
Isobel’s heart beat faster. “He was not to mention this to anyone.”
“A servant canna do anything he or she wishes. He has to have permission, so he has to use the money to bribe others to look the other way.”
“All right. But I will run out of shillings before long.” Isobel gave Mary the coins.
“He has hidden clothes behind the washing barrels. Dress in the alcove and with the borrowed brat covering your head and hair, everyone will believe you are a male servant, no’ a woman,” Mary said, frowning, “though God forbid anything should happen to you. ‘Tis no’ safe for a lass or a man to venture toward the border. Cantrell has gotten word to a couple of Laird McEwan’s men that you wish to see Marcus and they have agreed to escort you from the woods near the keep. You just need to slip past the chaos at the postern gate, and I will help to see that you leave without incident. But you must return within a few hours. I willna agree to aid you if you dinna.”
“I cannot stay with Marcus,” Isobel said, “or my father would have him thrown in the dungeon, wounded or not, and I can see a full-fledged battle ensuing. I just wish to see him.”
“Aye, lass. A thick fog cloaks the area, which can be good, but also can be bad. Mind the time. I have warned McEwan’s men thus as well. The laird doesna know you are coming to see him. He would say no.”
Overwhelmed with hopeful joy, Isobel threw her arms around Mary and hugged her.
“There, there, lass. ‘Tis what I would have wanted done for me if I were in your shoes. And I know you will go anyway to see him, so I would rather we did this in the safest manner possible.”
“Thank you, Mary.”
“Aye, well, once you have departed the grounds, I will return to your chamber, bolt the door, and talk away to you in a scolding way, pretending to be speaking with you while you are ignoring me. The knight will hear me and believe you are here as I dinna talk to myself, usually. Then I will say something about you going to sleep and will lapse into silence.”
Isobel prayed it would work.
“It is time.”
With her stomach jumping with fluttery worry, she and Mary departed the chamber with the knight in tow. At the meal, Isobel ate as much as she could force herself to, too upset over Marcus’s injury and too unsettled about traveling across the border with the men fighting to eat very much. Mary was watching her and so she ate as much of the fish soup, venison, and bread that she could manage, before she slipped away to the kitchen to speak to Cook about the meal for the next day. Afterward, she stopped at the billets where men injured in the skirmishes were being cared for. Once she began to aid the healer, she noticed her knight escort left, probably figuring she would be there for a while, and he could take care of personal business.
She finished bandaging a soldier’s arm, then left the billets and found the change of clothes where Cantrell had hidden them behind a barrel of soapy water. The washer women were busy hanging the clothes to dry and thankfully didn’t notice her. Unless he had bribed them to—look the other way.
Fearing she would be caught at any moment, Isobel changed into the servant’s clothes—trewes, a brown wool tunic, and then fastened the gray brat at her throat. She tucked her own clothes behind the washer barrels and hoped no one would find them. After pulling the wool brat over her head to cloak her hair and face, she hurried out of the keep and saw Mary watching for her, her brows furrowed with concern.
Isobel kept her head low so no one would see her face as she headed for the back gate. The thing of it was, with so many coming and going through the postern gate, no one paid her any mind. Not when she was wearing men’s clothes and leaving, not coming in. When she returned, they might inspect her some, but by then the deed would be done.
Thanking God that no one detained her, she stalked through the gate and headed for the woods, gladdened to see the gray fog cloaking the area. Several more hours of light remained, so she had to hurry to meet up with her escort in the cover of the woods and then go from there, and return well before it grew dark.
Her skin chilled with trep
idation and heart pounding, she quickly made her way to the edge of the forest, praying that she would run into the right men or she could be in serious trouble.
When she saw Rob on foot, his sword drawn, two horses nearby, she nearly cried out with relief. “‘Tis me,” she said, hoping no one else would hear her but Rob and his kinsmen serving as her escort and not her own men.
“My lady.” Rob quickly helped her to mount the spare horse.
She then saw six men, all wearing trewes and tunics, all nodding their greetings, several fighting smiles, though she knew this was a deadly business and if her men found her with the Highlanders, they would attempt to kill every one of them for taking off with her. But she suspected the men were glad to see her when she wished to visit Marcus and maybe even lift his spirits.
“They are all of the clan,” Rob said. “Come, we must ride quickly and return as soon as we can. We want no one to learn that you have slipped away.”
“Aye. Is he…is he well?”
“Aye, lass. He will want me skinned alive when he learns we have done this, but I know you, and I believed ‘twas safer this way, than worrying if you’d try to do this on your own.”
“Thank you, Rob.”
“Marcus will not be pleased,” Rob again warned her.
“I had to see him.”
“Aye, lass. I know.”
They traveled for some time in silence, avoiding the fighting, swords clashing and men shouting in two different areas, though they could not see the men battling for the woods and distance they were from Isobel and her escort. Trying to avoid any encounters with the men made for a longer journey, and her stomach tightened with concern all the more. When they left the cover of the woods, a shout from somewhere in the distance startled her and her heart did a little skip. Instantly, her skin chilled as she realized someone had spied their small party and warned his own people. Men on horseback suddenly appeared out of the fog as they left the woods and rode toward them. Ten of them. She held tightly onto her reins as her borrowed horse made a step back, and she feared he would bolt.
Her party halted, and Marcus’s men unsheathed swords while they circled around her to protect her. She loved Marcus’s kin. With all her heart, she wanted so to be part of his family.
Her skin prickling with fear though, she slipped her sgian dubh out of its sheath hidden beneath the brat, the one Marcus had given her when she was a young girl. She treasured it, but she didn’t believe she could fight men who wielded swords. If one of them lost his, she could get it and use the training she’d learned when she was but a wee lass fighting Rob and Finbar in mock battle and maybe gain the advantage. They wouldn’t expect that she could fight.
Then again, they probably thought her a lad and not a woman the way she was dressed. A lad would have trained how to fight in the Highlands from a young age.
“Hold!” Rob shouted. “We are kin to Marcus McEwan.”
They had to be Scots. His hair black as his eyes, the man in charge eyed Isobel with suspicion, most likely because Rob’s men surrounded her in a protective way.
“Who be the lad?” the man asked, his voice a command.
Good, they did not know she was a woman.
“Marcus’s nephew. He wants to see him at once, to give him the order personally that he should not be here attempting to fight the Sassenach on Marcus’s behalf,” Rob said.
She had never heard Rob use that term in referring to the English before, but she supposed he had to, to show which side he was on. She hoped the man was unaware that Marcus did not have a nephew.
The Scot smiled a little. Was it because he thought her a wild lad to attempt to fight in the battle on behalf of his uncle, or that he didn’t believe Rob?
“You have too small a party. We will ride with you to the tavern.”
“My thanks be to you,” Rob said and he and his men sheathed their swords.
“Dwyer’s the name.” He looked at the sgian dubh clutched in Isobel’s fist and she finally slipped it under her cloak. Why would a lad not be carrying a sword, she feared Dwyer would wonder.
She was glad that Rob and his men had not had to fight the English, and that the Scots would help them gain safe passage.
No one spoke any further as they headed again for the village, and when she saw the scattered cottages, the two shops and the one tavern, she felt both relief and apprehension.
When they reached the two-story stone tavern, one of the men took hold of her reins while Rob helped her down.
What surprised her next was that the man who was in charge of her Scots’ escort joined her and Rob. She was afraid he knew just who she was and what her business here entailed.
“My lady,” Dwyer said with admiration. “Do ye plan to leave with the laird and his kin when he is well enough to travel?”
Assuming he knew very well who she was, she shook her head. “I fear what would happen to the laird and his kin if my father were to learn of it.”
“Then you only wished to see his lairdship and return this day?”
“Aye. I shall not be long. I do not want anyone to learn I have gone.”
“Then with your permission and Rob’s, we would feel honored to return you home again once you are done.”
“But the risk—”
“Nay. The clan of the McEwan and their kin, the MacNeill clansmen, have fought alongside us numerous times. We know his lairdship was wounded because he had been with you and was turned out of the castle. We only wish the two of you the best. We pledge ourselves to returning you safely.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling choked up.
“Aye, my lady. We will be waiting.” Dwyer and the other men moved off then to water their horses.
Rob walked with her to the door of the tavern.
“He was cut on the back and is weak,” Rob said, preparing her for what she would see. “He was sitting up earlier and eating some. He may be sleeping now.”
“He is not with fever?”
“Nay.”
She felt some relief at his words, but until she saw him or knew he was fully recovered, she would worry.
They entered the tavern where men were eating and drinking, though the noise from their conversation visibly died down when the new arrivals appeared, everyone checking to see if they were friend or foe. Many nodded a greeting to Rob, and she suspected they were some of the men sent to watch over Marcus.
A few regarded her with a discerning eye. She hoped she looked like a young man and not like a woman dressed in men’s garments. She wondered if that’s what had given her away with the Scots across the border was Rob and his men circling her to protect her and that she had no sword, only a sgian dubh to protect herself in a fight.
They moved to the stairs and she felt strange when she didn’t have skirts to lift while she ascended the stairs. She kept her cloak closed so that no one there would see her trewes. She felt too exposed in them, having never worn a tunic that would show off the shape of her legs. Her father would have had a fit.
When they reached the landing, she saw two men standing on either side of a door. Both straightened when they saw her and bowed their heads in greeting. She returned their greeting with her own.
Rob knocked on the door. “I have returned with the bundle.”
“Good.” Finbar sounded vastly relieved. The bolt slid back and then the door opened. Finbar gave her a small smile. “He is asleep, but do come in, my lady.”
Isobel entered the room, then saw Marcus, his face peaceful in sleep, his blanket resting at his hips, his chest bare. She had seen many men like this when she tended to the wounded, so she was not shocked. And she had seen Marcus’s chest before when he fought his cousins in playful combat. She swore it had been just to show off his muscles. She had loved them and him for showing them off.
She hurried across the floor and placed her hand over his forehead, but his skin was cool to the touch. No fever. Thank God.
Finbar pulled the chair over to the bed so t
hat she could sit beside Marcus.
“We will be outside the room. If you need anything, just let us know,” Finbar said.
“Aye, thank you.”
He bowed his head and he and Rob left, then shut the door.
Isobel leaned over and kissed Marcus’s cheek. He didn’t stir and she knew she should let him rest. That sleep would help to heal him. But she also believed that if he knew she was here, sitting beside him, encouraging him to get well, he would mend all the faster. If only the situation could be different between them and she was sitting at his bedside in his chambers back home. She would not leave his side until he was well again.
Then again, if things were different, he wouldn’t be suffering from any kind of wound inflicted by the English.
She worried that she didn’t have much time to stay.
She ran her hand over his arm, loving the feel of his muscles, his skin. She looked back at his face and was startled to see him staring at her as if he were seeing a ghost.
“‘Tis me,” she quickly said.
“What are you doing here?” Marcus attempted to sit up.
She jumped up and helped him sit. “I came to see you. I had to know that you were well. I had to tell you that I love you with all my heart.”
“You crossed the border? With the skirmishes going on? What were you thinking?”
She scowled at him. “I was thinking that I loved you, and I had to be with you. That was what I was thinking!”
He smiled a little, though he grimaced also and appeared to still be very much in pain.
“You shouldna be here. It will be as difficult for you to return as it was to get here.”
“‘Twas not difficult coming here.” She wouldn’t admit how scared she had been when they had come across the group of Scots looking to fight them, until Rob had told them who they were. Or how hearing the fighting going on in the distance had made her heart race with fear. “I would not have stayed away. I had to see you for myself.”
“You have seen me.” He sounded furious. “Tell Rob you wish to return now. Before you are missed. Before you are in further danger.”
