by Alisa Adams
Ceena looked over at Godet who looked very upset. Ceena knew that Godet was feeling panicky about standing around instead of going after Flori immediately, just as she was. Godet saw Ceena watching her. She motioned to her and started to walk toward the door. Ceena started to follow her and Ina quickly joined them.
Gordon turned and held his left arm out, closing it around Godet’s waist as she was about to pass behind him on his right. “Where are ye going?” he said quietly, ignoring Brigda’s demands. He was standing close to her, so close it felt intimate. She tried to take a step back, but he held her there. His head bent down toward hers.
“We cannae wait. Enough time has been spent talking. We must go, now,” she said urgently. Her voice, though quiet, rang with her frustration.
“Gordon, let her leave,” Brigda said loudly. Her eyes were narrowed on his arm, wrapped around Godet’s waist.
Gordon ignored Brigda once again. “It isn’t safe for ye three to go after them. They’ll take ye all and ye know it,” he stated in a low whisper to her, staring deeply into her bright silver eyes which were damp with unshed tears.
“We made it here, dinnae we?” she argued. “The Black Watch will only start a war. We can get in and out quietly... If ye are worried, give us three warriors.”
Gordon stared at her, his eyes fierce, his hold on her not relenting. “Tis ye Brigda wants, she dinnae care aboot the others going,” Godet whispered to him. “We can get them back.”
“What are ye saying?” Brigda called out.
Godet pushed Gordon’s arm off her waist and stepped away from him. She looked at the angry red-head staring at her. “I am telling the Laird that we three will go without him and I asked if we may have the escort of three of his warriors. No more than that. No army, no war. Just us going after our sister and Loughlin, ‘tis all.”
“Very well. I approve. Ye may go,” Brigda declared, making a shooing motion with her hand.
“Dae not dare to give orders here, Brigda!” Gordon roared at her. Then he turned to Godet, “That will not get Mungan out of Fionnaghall,” Gordon said in a firm voice.
“’Tis my sister that is the priority,” Godet replied curtly to him, her fists clenched at her sides. “The fate of Fionnaghall will be settled later.” She stared stubbornly up at Gordon then turned and left the hall with her sisters right behind.
Tristan stepped forward. “I will go with them. I vow I will keep them safe,” he said quietly to his brother. A silent message passed between the two of them. Tristan knew he was to bring the sisters safely back to Conall—all of them. He nodded his head and clasped his brother’s arm. “Ye have my word, Laird,” Tristan whispered low and quiet. He started to say something else but Gordon stopped him.
“We go together or not at all Tristan,” Gordon said, clasping his brother’s arm. “Though I appreciate yer offer,” Gordon added. He then turned to Brigda. “I am leaving now. Ye may stay here or if ye truly fear for yer safety ye may accompany us. I will tell ye, however, that we will be riding fast and hard. There willnae be breaks. Keep up or be left behind,” he finished with a raised eyebrow at her.
“Ye can’t mean to leave me alone here…” Brigda sputtered.
“Why not? Ye have the entire Black Watch. And the elders are here. They will be most happy to keep ye company or escort ye back to yer father.” When he finished, Gordon spun around to walk out of the hall. He called over his shoulder, “Or ye can spend time with the two Aunts. Aunt Burnie and Aunt Hexy. I know how much they enjoy ye.” He did not wait for Brigda’s response.
As he and Tristan walked out of the hall into the courtyard to their waiting horses, he heard the thunder of heavy hoofbeats. He watched as the three Ross sisters rode through the courtyard and out of the gates ahead of them. The giant horses were in a full gallop. He looked at Tristan with a wry smile. Two of his warriors were staring at the departing ladies with fascinated grins on their faces. Liam was still frowning furiously.
“Of course, they dinnae wait but galloped off ahead. Let’s catch them, shall we men?” Gordon called as he leaped onto Glashtin’s back with an eagerness he hadn’t felt in a long time.
13
Gordon galloped full speed through the heather. The wind was racing through his hair bringing with it the wild, sweet smell of the gorse and the rich, deep, and earthy smell of the mountains alongside the clear loch. He knew he was racing away from Brigda, racing from his responsibilities to the clan, to the whiskey distillery, and to the elders.
He was racing after her.
Gordon could feel Glashtin’s powerful muscles bunching under him as his hooves flew over the ground. He knew he should feel guilty for this feeling of overwhelming happiness and freedom as he flew over the ground on Glashtin.
He was going after her, toward her, with her.
He had finally begun to admit that he did not want Brigda. Gordon knew he never really did. Her beauty was unarguable, but they had nothing in common. They were opposites in the worst way. Had he ever seen any kindness in her? Anything to like, to talk about, to laugh about, or anything in their future to plan for? Had he ever even wanted to kiss her or be near her? Did he even want to touch her?
The answer to all his questions was no.
Realizing this and acknowledging it was freeing. But how was the best way to go forward for his clan with the elders and with the plans for an alliance with the MacKenzie Laird? The access they needed across the MacKenzie lands to the ports for their whiskey was still on his mind. There must be another way, he told himself.
There had to be another way.
He leaned over his horse’s neck and raced across the heather then up the hills of green and purple and down the winding paths that ran between the hills and along the clear, flowing streams that were making their way to the loch. Godet was only a horse length in front of him with her long black curls streaming out behind her. Realizing that she was spurring Bluebell on faster away from him, Gordon gave a great laugh. Glashtin’s speed was unmatched; the big draft horses, though powerful, were not fast.
She looked back at him and gave a fierce frown, but he only laughed again. Godet was a warrior: fierce, proud, fearless, and full of stubborn pride. She would take on an army herself and frown at him for any offer of help. He knew this. He knew her spirit and that spirit that she had instilled in her sisters after their parents passing. He also knew she was his—his perfect match.
He would have no other.
Certainly not Brigda. Never Brigda. How to convince the elders of this was the problem. How to convince Godet... Well, that was an even larger problem, though he looked forward to convincing her.
“What are ye doing here?” Godet called to him as he rode up beside her. The frown was still in place on her face as she glared ferociously at him. Her hair was a riot of wind-blown curls hanging down to her hips. Her eyes flashed liked silver crystals. She took his breath away.
“I’m going after my man and yer sister,” he called back with a broad smile. Then he spurred Glashtin on past her, taking the lead in front of her sisters.
Gordon gave a quick nod to Liam and the two other warriors as they came up behind. They flanked the women at his signal. They grinned back at him, knowing this adventure they were on was going to be an interesting one with three female warriors along.
Tristan had ridden with Gordon, but as they reached the women, he rode up and stayed beside Ceena. She only looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a meaningful look ahead at Gordon. Tristan shrugged his shoulders at her and smiled, keeping the pace of her slower, big mare. His stallion, Wallace, was a full brother to Glashtin, not as fast but a powerful and fearless horse in battle.
“Nice of ye and Wally to be joining us,” Ceena said to him as she cantered along.
Tristan’s eyes were drawn to her hips where they moved gracefully with the movement of the mare under her. She is fluid grace and strength on a horse, he thought. Sensuality in motion.
“What?” he said, looking
quickly up to her eyes.
She stared in annoyance at him, “What are ye staring at? I said it’s nice of ye and Wally to be joining us.”
Tristan blustered for a stride; he certainly wasn’t going to tell her he had been admiring her buttocks. Then he realized what she had said. “Who the hell is Wally?”
“Why, ‘tis yer horse, of course,” she said calmly, dropping down to a walk at Gordon’s signal to let all the horses take a walk rest after their long gallop.
“My horse is not named Wally!” he thundered at her. He watched as she threw her head back in laughter, revealing the pale, creamy skin of her throat. He gave her a mutinous glare.
“’Tis his name. Wallace, Wally.” Ceena shrugged with a merry twinkle in her eyes.
“Niver say Wally. He is named after the great William Wallace, lass. Dare ye to lay low his name?”
“Och then, I should be bowing to yer grand horse then I suppose,” she teased in a thick Scottish burr. Then she laughed and bowed her head to his horse.
“’Tis better than naming a horse after a flower,” he grumbled at her.
It was Ceena’s turn to glare at Tristan. The man was too good looking for her. When he glowered at her, however, it changed his too pretty face to sternly handsome. She did not like that. He looked much like his brother Gordon. He was broad, strong, and thickly muscled with the same brown, wavy hair as his brother, but his features were smoother. He did not have the scars that his brother had. No, his face was too pretty for her, but when he glared so mutinously at her, well, that was another thing altogether. She hated the effect he had on her.
“I like her name,” Ceena said curtly without looking at him. In fact, she had turned her chin up and looked resolutely and stubbornly straight ahead.
“Whins is a perfect name for a mare,” came Ina’s lyrical and feminine voice from behind them where she rode next to Ian. “She can run like the wind, she can help Ceena win in battles. Her coat is as golden as the flower she is named for. Aye, ‘tis a fitting name for sure.”
Tristan grunted. “She cannae run like the wind; she’s a barge, a boulder, a mountain.” He laughed incredulously.
“Tristan, flowers are important,” Ina said in her soft, melodious voice. “Take that scunner look off yer face and admit it.”
“Flowers are important lassie?” Liam asked her with a fierce, disbelieving frown.
Ina looked up at the big, angry-looking, blonde warrior riding beside her, then to Tristan. She sighed dramatically. “Och, a nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse if I try to explain it to ye,” she said with another sigh.
“Try,” said Tristan with a sardonic drawl.
“Tristan,” Gordon cautioned, turning his head around to look at his brother.
“’Tis fine Laird MacDonell,” Ina said lightly before turning back to Tristan. “Flowers are bonny, braw, and bowf, bruadarach,” Ina explained dreamily, “like a breac a mhuiltein.”
“I dinnae understand all of that, no one here does,” Tristan said again in a teasing drawl.
Gordon looked back again, “Let me see if I understood that. Flowers are beautiful, have a pretty smell, they are like a dream? They cover the Earth like a cloud-dappled sky? Or something close to that?” Gordon asked her with one brow raised.
“Yes! Very good!” Ina said gaily.
“Ye couldnae just say that?” asked Liam with a frown.
“I could have, but it doesnae sound as guid, dae ye ken? I like it better in the Scots,” Ina told him matter-of-factly in her lilting voice.
Liam stared at the dainty, little blonde sitting so gracefully on the huge, giant of a horse as it walked along. “Cuir air camhanaich, cuir air corrachag cagail, cuir air mo chridhe,” Liam said in his deep, rumbly voice. He blinked a few times and looked awkwardly away. His mouth was pursed in anger.
Ina stared at him curiously. “I suppose I’ll have to be the one to ask since this is getting awkward,” Godet said into the silence. “What did he just say?”
Gordon looked at Godet, his voice dropped lower as he spoke in a quiet, dulcet, deep, and velvety voice with his Scots burr more pronounced than usual. “I believe he said something like; I give ye the morning twilight, I give ye the warmth of flickering firelight, I give ye my heart…” He looked deep into her silver eyes as he spoke. When he finished, his eyes trailed to her full, rosy lips then over her black curling hair before moving back up to those mysterious silvery eyes.
Godet was caught and held by the look on Gordon’s face. His green eyes held her. She stared at him, at his long, wavy dark hair that fell to his wide shoulders, his square jaw, his full lips, his straight nose, and his black lashes that were unfairly long for a man. He had the shadow of a beard on his jaw and chin and she thought it made him look even more fierce, more commanding. She blushed and looked away. Gordon stayed close. They rode side-by-side, their knees brushing, as they were staring deeply into each other’s eyes.
“Liam!” Ina exclaimed. “Ye speak Scots? That was so lovely!”
When Liam turned back to look at her, his face was bright red and the fierce frown he gave her had her shrinking back away from him. Tristan smacked Liam on the shoulder. “Ye’re scaring the wee lassie, Liam. Leave her be. Ye’re too big and mean for her anyway.”
Later that day, they were riding in unknown territory. The hills had gotten larger, the purple heather had turned mostly to thistle, and more and more trees climbed their way up and down the ever-steepening hills. Tangles of yellow gorse bushes grew there in huge, yellow swaths making the going slower. They had been outside the MacDonell lands for most of the afternoon.
At a sharp whistle, they all looked ahead to see Gordon, his arm was held up and he and Godet had halted. Gordon was staring into the forest they were about to enter. There was a hushed silence surrounding the riders. Even the forest was silent. No sound of a bird call nor a rustle in the leaves.
They all went on alert.
14
“What is this forest, Godet?” Gordon asked her quietly, his deep voice a bare rumble in the shadowy silence of the dead looking woods.
“They call it the Bogle Wood,” she answered him in a hushed, husky voice as she stared into the darkness of the lifeless trees.
“Phantom Wood?” he asked her.
“Aye, many a man has gone in, niver to come out,” she explained.
“Who is they?” At her questioning look, he repeated, “Ye said ‘they’ call it Bogle Wood, not ye?”
“I have more to fear than ghosts, it’s the living that are dangerous,” she stated peering through the thickness of the dead, skeletal trees. “’Tis eerie. The death of the trees was caused many years ago by a blight, we believe. We have always gone the longer way around the Bogle Wood. ‘Tis hard getting through it, though ‘tis a shorter route.”
“Aye, ‘tis such a tangle that ‘tis a perfect place to lay in wait for travelers.” Gordon paused and looked at her. “Stay close,” he ordered and touched his heels to Glashtin’s sides to walk him forward into the dense, dark forest.
“Keep yer eyes open and be on alert aheid and ahint and all aroun,” Gordon commanded quietly to his men, telling them to watch ahead and behind and all around them.
Godet stayed beside him with her hand on the handle of her dirk as she scanned the woods in all directions. The trees closed in on them the deeper into the forest they went. So close were the trees that the sunlight from the few remaining leaves high above was cut off. Here and there giant rocks jutted out of the ground, reaching for the sky as if gasping for air or light. The floor was naught but dead leaves, bramble, and masses of decaying tree limbs making the going slow for the big horses. There was no color here, no life. Nothing but gray and black from the rocks and dead trees.
Godet turned and looked back at her sisters. She motioned to Ina, looking down at her dirks. Ina took her meaning and slowly moved her hand to one of her dirks as well. Then Godet looked beyond Ina to Ceena. She already had her hand on her dirk
and was watching the woods on either side of her. Tristan was riding so close to Ceena that their knees brushed. She watched as Ceena stuck her foot out and shoved Tristan’s horse away from her, glaring at Tristan as she did so.
The huge warrior, Liam, was as close as he could possibly be to Ina without hindering Ina’s horse, Myrtle. He had his hand on his musket where it was tucked into the belt of his kilt.
Each of Gordon’s men was doing the same. Each had a musket as well as a sword in a scabbard on their wide leather belts on their kilts. Godet looked at Gordon. He had two muskets and his large sword. She knew it had been his father’s and now was Gordon’s upon his father’s death. It hung down past his kilt along his muscular thigh. She saw skin and muscle between his tall leather boots and the bottom of his kilt and swallowed. She had never seen a man with such powerful legs.
She relaxed, just a wee bit, feeling safer. Her sisters’ safety did not rest entirely on her shoulders for the first time since her parents had died. It was a new feeling that she welcomed, though guiltily.
Then Gordon suddenly held his hand up for the group to stop. He turned back to his men and quietly pointed ahead of them to a fallen tangle of dead tree limbs. There was a piece of cloth on it.
Godet gasped. “Flori is leaving us a trail. That is a piece of her skirt!” she said in a hushed, excited voice.
“Loughlin is leaving us a trail,” Gordon corrected her quietly in a firm voice.
“But ‘tis Flori’s skirt,” she insisted just as firmly, matching his quiet tone. Gordon just raised his eyebrow at her and gave the command to keep moving and watch for signs.
Ceena looked at Tristan and whispered in a frustrated voice, “I dinnae ken why we are looking for signs. Why arnae we just heading back to Fionnaghall? That’s where they were headed isnae it?”
“Loughlin won’t let them get that far,” Tristan said with certainty.
