Even with the tiny snags of Victoria’s skirt on various stubble and protruding roots, they made it to Roran’s backyard just as the sun was a mere smidgen over the horizon.
“Oi!” Donald called over, with his head down as he was checking a bag at his feet, “Aboot time ye– ach! Hector, why is tha lass wi’ ye?”
“Nae time tae explain,” Hector replied, as he checked Euan’s saddle, “She’s comin’ wi’ us, an’ we need tae leave, right noo.”
Hector didn’t have to look to his friend to know that Donald was both shocked and disapproving, but he didn’t care. Victoria needed help, and he was no ungrateful bastard to turn her away in her time of need.
Tying Victoria’s bag on the hump of the saddle, Hector silently reached out for her hand and grasping it, gently aided Victoria into the saddle before joining her. His arms circled her slim waist to grasp the reins.
“I ken it’s no’ comfortable, lass, but tha ride is short. We’ll most likely get ye a steed somewhere along tha way.”
Snapping the reins, Euan started to walk, and soon enough Donald came up beside them with his head shifting between Hector and the road in wonder. Not paying him much attention, Hector was more concerned with Victoria in such proximity, as he felt the stiffness of her spine and her shoulders. Her head was fixed ramrod straight ahead, and he spotted the bloodless whites of her hands as they grasped the pommel.
It was after they had left the sleeping village and Moore’s land behind that she sagged, and her body went a little slack. Her back met his chest and, automatically, Hector’s arms closed around her. If there was any time for her to feel secure, it was now, right there, sheltered in his arms. It didn’t surprise him much when she fell asleep, braced on his chest, soon after.
He wasn’t surprised, either, when Donald came near to him and asked, “What’s wi’ tha lass, Hector?”
The road to Northamptonshire was lonely, and Hector wouldn’t have it any other way, as it was safe to answer.
“I dinnae ken,” Hector replied in a hushed voice, respectful of Victoria’s sleep, “But I suspect it hae tae do wi’ her faither marryin’ her off tae some louse.”
“But what does tha' hae ta do wi’ ye?” Donald replied, “I ken ye hae feelings fer her, but isnae tha' her problem tae deal wi’?”
The words weren’t said in an aggressive tone or one of repulsion but were more mired in curiosity. Hector, though, had to take some time to formulate his answers before he could reply. “I suppose she saw me as safety, someone who wouldnae turn her away…an’, I owe her Donald. She risked her life tae give me information, I ken this is a fittin’ way tae repay her.”
“Aye, but fer how long?” Donald inquired.
“As long as she needs me,” Hector replied softly, as his eyes traced the soft curve of Victoria’s eyelids and the dark lines of her lashes resting on her cheeks.
“Ye do ken tha' when they see her gone, they’re goin’ tae search fer her, right?” Donald replied tensely. “An' if they catch us, we’re goin' tae be hanged as kidnappers. Are ye prepared fer a short drop an’ a sudden stop?”
“Nae,” Hector replied heavily, “I kent that from tha’ moment I decided tae help her - but I couldnae leave her there tae suffer. We’ll hae tae make sure we dinnae get caught.”
Even with that proclamation, the morning was getting progressively hotter as the sun rose higher and just as it reached the apex, Hector had to call for a rest. If he was getting this uncomfortable in only a shirt and the English trousers, he could only imagine how Victoria, still under the thickness of her cloak, was feeling.
Finding a tree with a wide spread of thick leaves, Hector guided Euan under it and then softly prodded Victoria awake. She grabbed at his arm in a death grip just as her eyes flew open, showing her shock, before she calmed. Twisting, she glimpsed Hector’s face before her head snapped back, “Where are we?”
“Halfway tae Northamptonshire,” Hector replied. “It’s swelterin’, an’ we need tae get ye some rest.”
“No,” Victoria rushed as she sat up in alarm. “We cannot rest until we get there. I may have eluded the manor’s defenses but it won’t last for long. I bet that they’re looking for me right now. We must hurry!”
Hector and Donald shared a quick look before Hector faced Victoria, “I ken, but it’s nae fer long. At least take tha cloak off, drink some water, an’ stretch yer legs, it willnae do ye well if ye faint from tha heat along tha way.”
Scrambling down, Victoria did away with the cloak and Hector pretended not to see her blouse, damp with perspiration, clinging to the round mounds of her breasts. Handing her his waterskin, Hector gave the parched and panting horse some of its hoard while keeping an eye out on the road.
Victoria was right. The moment she was found absent the hounds of hell were going to be released, and if they got caught, he and Donald would swing. A thick cloud was coming in overhead, and it could provide them cover for some portions of the ride.
“We must go. Now,” Victoria said tersely from beside him. “We can rest more when we get there. I know Mr. Johnson - he will shelter us.”
“Right,” Hector replied, and with a signal to Donald, resettled Victoria back on the horse before he joined her. They took to the road with a quick trot, as the haste to find cover descended on them. The same foreboding sense he had felt before he had discovered who Victoria was, was building once more in his stomach.
He spurred Euan into a gallop without even thinking of it, and Donald silently followed suit. The outskirts of the town were in sight when he managed to look over his shoulder. A plume of dust was on the far horizon, a haze of silt kicked up by galloping horses. His ominous gut-feeling was right.
“Hold ye on, Victoria,” Hector said as he increased the horse's pace into a full gallop into the woods near the township, ardently seeking cover from the thick woodland.
His heart was a steady beat in his ears but years of combat had trained the young warrior to not heed to the pumping of frantic energy through his veins but to listen to the voice in his head. He couldn’t afford for them to get caught. Victoria would be sentenced to marriage and he and Donald would be dead, leaving his mission unfinished, his father’s soul without rest, and his Clan without a leader. There was just too much to lose.
They had barely reached a point of suitable cover when two horses, running with dead speed and holding two men, sped past their meager hiding point without a look. Hector released a breath, wordlessly thanking God that those men weren’t trackers or else, with one glance to the dusty ground and seeing the horses’ hoof prints, they would have been caught.
The three stayed still under cover and in silence until Hector broke it. “Tha' was close. We cannae go tae tha town tha' way anymore, as they’ll be lookin’ oot fer ye. Lass, d’ye ken any other way tae get tae this Mark o' yers?”
Victoria was pale from panic, but her voice was steady enough. “I don’t know, really, but I assume that like most towns there are side entrances. We might have to circle the town through the woods, find one of those, wait for night, and then enter. Mr. Johnson lives near the outskirts.”
“Tha’s probably tha best course,” Donald spoke up. “Goin’ through tha town barefaced is bound tae get us noticed. Enterin’ at night is tha best cover, I ken.”
Hector was surprised at Donald’s words. He had almost accepted that his friend didn’t favor Victoria entirely, but perhaps he had been wrong. Spinning back to Victoria, Hector realized that the lass was at a disadvantage. Donald knew who she was, but she didn’t know him.
“Victoria, this is Donald, me companion an’ best frien' fer all me life,” Hector replied gesturing between the two. “He’s here tae ‘help me find Andrew, just like ye.”
The young lady turned attentive eyes on the other man and said, “That’s very gracious of you. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Donald nodded, “Aye, same here.”
Taking that as the best he could get, for now, Hector turned to the
horses, “Let’s find a way through this woodland an’ get as close as we can tae any gate we can find, an’ hunker down till night.”
Hector was about to get the horses when he faintly remembered to ask, “Hae ye eaten anythin', lass?”
Victoria shook her head, “I have food, but I am not settled enough to eat a morsel, not until we get to safety.”
Once again, Donald and Hector shared a look, this time of surprise. Victoria was acting like a soldier with a purpose and not a lady with partialities. This time, she lifted herself upon the horse like a seasoned rider and looked at Hector with lowered eyes, “Well, are you coming with me or not?”
The Laird shook his head and with a soft chuckle joined her on the steed.
The song of summer cicadas was a soft background to the three waiting at the border of pastureland as the night descended. It was a new moon, and the only light they had came from the dim stars above. Victoria and Donald were sitting under a tree while Hector was crouching some yards before them with his sheathed sword in one hand while he surveyed the area.
Some drunks had just crossed the nearby field about twenty minutes ago. Their loud shouts had sent a measure of panic through the three. Donald had tied the horses out of sight, inside the forest line, as it was madness to try and sneak through the town on horseback.
“It’s time,” Donald said quietly. “Hector, ye go first, tha lass 'tween us, an’ I’ll cover tha back.”
Hector silently grasped Victoria’s hand, and with a half-crouch started to walk. His steps, honed from years of hunting, were quiet and sure, as were Donald’s, but Victoria’s stumbled at points. They crossed the pastureland gate and crept into the town, making sure to keep to the shadowed walkways and unlit streets.
Victoria’s hushed directions took them past a postmaster’s station, a tavern, and a few dark houses. The stink of garbage littered along the roads made a stinging stench that made Hector want to cover his nose, but both hands were occupied.
“Take this street,” Victoria hushed and instantly Hector turned left. Dogs were howling in the distance, and the beady eyes of rats gleamed at them before the critters skittered away. The three walked to the end of the lane where a house, lifted on a high stone foundation, stood. There was a simple set of stairs that led to a wide portico, and there Victoria stopped them.
“This is Mr. Johnson’s house.” Victoria said, “Let me go knock, and when he sees me, he’ll let us in.”
Hector hesitated for a moment, but he reasoned it was the best way. Before he could say a word a loud thunk of wood meeting flesh resounded in the air, and Donald fell over unconscious. Hector reacted instantly - shoved Victoria behind him and was about to unsheathe his sword when a silver blade was levelled at his chin.
“I don’t take lightly to unannounced visitors,” the steel of Mark Johnson’s voice said darkly, as his grey eyes, as hard as his voice, glinted in the half-light. “Tell me who you are, or I’ll run you through with my blade.”
Chapter 18
“Mr. Johnson, no!” Victoria called out in a hushed but strong voice, “Please, stop. Don’t harm him. It is I, Lady Victoria Moore.”
The man’s blade didn’t move from Hector’s throat, but he did shift to look over his captive’s shoulder. “Lady Victoria, is that you?”
Deeming it safe, Victoria came around from behind Hector’s body and with a calm hand and a steely disposition, softly pushed the sword away from the Scotsman’s neck. “It is I, and we have come to speak with you.”
Mark didn’t look appeased, “We?”
“Yes, we.” Hector said tightly, “I am Hector MacTavish - tha one ye warned tha lass aboot - an’ ye hae rendered me companion unconscious.”
“Nae,” Donald’s weak voice came from the ground as the floored man picked himself up, “I was just stunned, no’ unconscious.”
“May we come in?” Victoria asked. “It’s been a long day for us, Mr. Johnson, and we need rest.”
The sleuth eyed the three before nodding and lowering the weapon fully. “Very well. My wife, Cynthia, is asleep so be as quiet as you can.”
Taking the steps, Mark, who was now revealed by his profile to be a tall, thin man, unlocked the door and ushered them inside. Hector’s arm was braced around the still dazed Donald as they went in and were guided to a seat.
Mark lit a candle and placed it on a table. “There were men in the town today, warning us of Scottish robbers and plunderers. That is why I was armed. Whenever we get a warning like that I never sleep.”
Victoria frowned a bit, “That’s it? There was no notice about me? Why would my absence be left out?”
“Possibly to not harm you,” Mark replied. “Some bounty hunters can get overzealous and in their bid to get the men, may unintentionally harm you.”
Or to not give any incentive for a ransom, Victoria thought acerbically. If they don’t know who I am, they won’t ask for money, and I’m probably worth a treasure chest.
“I understand.” Victoria replied, “Mr. Johnson, don’t be alarmed, these men did not kidnap me as I assume you’re currently thinking. I am here willingly.”
“But not appropriately,” Mark replied astutely, “It is the middle of the night, Lady Victoria. You have either snuck away for a time, or you have left your home for good. Which is it?”
“The latter,” Victoria replied unashamed. “Mr. Johnson, these men need to know what you know about Andrew MacTavish. He is Hector’s brother. They are trying to find him.”
“Twenty-odd years after the fact?” Mark asked with a hint of incredulity. “I don’t know how far you might get, as the trails had gone cold when I tried three years ago. They must be frigid now.”
“Still,” Hector replied solemnly, “I need tae ken, ‘tis me Da’s last request tae find him an’ I intend tae do so… even if it leads me tae his grave.”
Mark grimaced, “You might be led there, though I hope not. When Lady Victoria commissioned me to find your brother, a relative of the man who was charged to carry the babe to Scotland was still alive and told me the route the messenger, a Mr. Lucas, took on his way to the Isle. I followed them, a stint of roadside inns and taverns, and spoke to the proprietors who confirmed that he had been there, all the way to Cladich, in Argyll. When I got there, the innkeeper of the Latha Inn told me that Mr. Lucas had left to bathe himself and the babe in a nearby spring, but never came back. His dead body, sporting a stab wound to his back, was found days after in a field of rushes and the child was gone. It was thought to be a robbery.”
Mark paused, “I asked around, and no one had seen or heard of any thief in the village brave enough to kill. I then suspected that a spy, knowing the true heritage of the boy, had intentions for ransom and had followed Mr. Lucas and took the opportunity to kill him and take the child but, once again, there were no strangers in the town. I stayed for over a week, but each time I sought an answer, I was denied one. I had no other option but to deem the boy dead or taken, and left.”
Hector’s head was down, but he had listened to every word Mark said. “Cladich, ye say.”
“Yes,” Mark replied, “I searched all over, but after confirming the two were there, the boy just vanished.”
“Well,” Hector replied, “It seems tha' Cladich is oor destination--”
Loud bangs on Mark’s door blasted through the air, making all four jump and the man instantly grabbed his sword, just as Hector did.
“Be quiet,” Mark hissed to the three as he went to the door and there asked loudly, “Who calls?”
“Oliver Hammond, the watchman.” A man’s gravelly voice said, “It’s been reported that you have some visitors, Mr. Johnson!”
Hector swore under his breath and readied his weapon if Mark needed assistance. Mark, however, seemed to feel Hector’s thought and fanned him down. He did open the door and step out, before closing it tightly behind him. The three, sitting nervously, waited with bated breath as they heard the conversation through the door.
; “And who were these reporters, hmm?” Mark asked easily. “Some soused men jabbering foolishness after having too much to drink, I suppose. Or is it my intrepid neighbor Frank, who makes it his business to spy upon me at all times, as he is convinced that I am a secret agent for the Crown. Which is it?”
Incensed splutters were heard before Oliver spat, “I am not at liberty to say.”
“A dog in the street perhaps, then.” Mark replied, “May I ask, if you are such a valiant watchman, why is it that you haven’t seen these so-called visitors yourself? Are you that much of an imbecile to believe the reports of drunken men when you reek of ale? Get off my porch, or I’ll stick my blade through that potbelly of yours.”
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 15
