The Scot's Quest (Highland Swords Book 4)

by Keira Montclair

  “Get the leggings on,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  Once her leggings were on, she unhooked the binding around her breasts, keeping her back to him, and handed the end of the cloth to him so he could assist her in unwinding the cursed band.

  “Just warning you they aren’t the large breasts most men like.”

  He snapped, “I’m not most men.”

  She reached for the dry tunic on the stone floor and put it on, keeping her back to him. When she was finally covered, he let out a long breath he’d been holding through the entire ordeal.

  He’d survived.

  The men returned and worked on the fire, two of them bringing skins back to Derric and Dyna, one of fresh water from the burn and one of ale.

  She reached for the water, but Derric took it first. “We’ll be heating that before anyone drinks it. Robert says water straight from a burn is less likely to make you heave if you heat it first. Have a sip or two of Cameron ale. ’Tis less likely to upset your belly.”

  Once the fire was started, Ham announced, “I’m exhausted. I’ll have a piece of cheese, and I’m bedding down for the night.”

  The others agreed, and they got situated on the floor of the cave. Dyna had a couple of bites of cheese then folded up one of the furs and rested her head on it. She was asleep within minutes. Derric took the other fur and covered her up.

  He fell asleep not long after.

  A crack of thunder, so close the ground shook, awakened him in the night. He glanced over at Dyna and could see her trembling even in the dark. Soft moans came from her lips.

  Moving over to her side, he felt her skin, the fever raging through her. “I’m so cold,” she mumbled in her sleep.

  Derric couldn’t stand to watch her suffer. He’d removed his tunic and set it to dry by the fire, but he had his extra dry plaid as a blanket. Hoping he wouldn’t awaken her, he settled himself behind her and tucked her backside up against him, giving her his heat, and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know what else to do to help her, but at least he could try to keep her warm. The body was strange in the way it could shiver from cold even as it felt hot to the touch. He would do what he could to help her.

  Losing her was not an option.

  Chapter Ten

  When Dyna awakened, she was in a soft bed, far away from the dark cave she’d fallen asleep in. She forced herself to a sitting position and moaned, holding her head in an attempt to soothe the powerful ache. It felt like one of the fae was beating inside her head with a tiny mallet.

  Her sister, Claray, sat across from her. “Dyna? You are hale?” Her voice was both intent and worried, the pitch higher than usual.

  “Claray? Where am I? What’s wrong?”

  “You were sick. I was afraid you were dying. Please promise me you’ll never die. I cannot lose you.” She could see the tears welling up in her sister’s eyes.

  “I’m on Grant land? How did I get here?”

  Her sister moved to sit on the bed, reaching for her hand. The expression on her face told Dyna exactly how sick she must have been. She’d not seen that shade of fear on Claray’s face during the day, only at night, after she’d awoken from one of her nightmares. “You’re in your chamber. Derric brought you here last eve with a raging fever. Aunt Gracie and Mama bathed you and gave you a potion. How do you feel?”

  “Awful.” She reached up to massage her pounding temple. “There was an awful storm, but we made it through the ravine and into the cave before…” Memories began to return to her—memories of him. She recalled Derric helping her to undress, giving her the furs, supporting her.

  She had an odd sense of sleeping next to his heat, his arms tightly wrapped around her. Was her mind playing tricks on her? “Derric? Is he still here?”

  “Aye, he said he would stay two eves before he left. He wanted to make sure you were hale. Is he something to you, Dyna?” Claray looked down at her hands, worrying them. “Are you leaving me? You always said you’d never marry, but he seems…”

  A knock interrupted her, saving Dyna from having to answer the question. “Enter.”

  Her mother came in and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. How do you feel?” Sela Grant was still a statuesque beauty.

  “Terrible. I guess I had the fever. I remember shivering, but I don’t remember how I got from the cave to here.”

  Her mother patted her arm. “Derric protected you and carried you inside. You rode in front of him. He said you slept the entire way, shivering on and off.”

  “I’ll have to thank him,” she mumbled before she dropped back onto the bed. “My head is killing me.” She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

  “Your father and I thanked him profusely. We could tell he’d taken good care of you. Had you been alone, you would have fallen off your horse and never been found. Remember this when you think on running off on your own again.” Her mother got up and covered her. “I’ll get something for your head from Aunt Gracie. She said Aunt Jennie sent some new potions and poultices. Your father wishes to speak with you, so he’ll bring it up. Rest your eyes until then. I’ll send a warm bowl of porridge for you, too.” Then she stopped for a moment. “You can thank Derric yourself. You should thank him when you’re feeling hale. He’s a fine young man.”

  Dyna nodded and closed her eyes, falling into oblivion again.

  The next time she opened her eyes, her sire stood next to her bed. He set a small table next to her and arranged the porridge and the potion on it. “Aunt Gracie sent this for you.”

  “My thanks, Papa,” she mumbled. How she’d missed him. Even though he had a well-deserved reputation as a fierce warrior, he had a soft heart, a propensity to see the good in everyone.

  He helped her sit up, propping pillows behind her before handing her the potion and the bowl of porridge. “You need to eat something after you take the potion. Derric said you were in bad condition.”

  She swallowed two bites, the heat easing some of the pain in her throat.

  Her father waited for her to swallow before he continued his inquisition.

  “Grandsire. Derric told me what he knows, but I’d prefer to hear it from you.” He sat back, giving her a chance to gather her thoughts. He was never one to be pushy or overly insistent. He was almost as patient as his father, though not quite. Grandsire had the patience of a saintly priest, and how he did it, no one knew.

  “Two sheriffs arrived at MacLintock Castle to warn Grandsire that Edward’s son was sending out garrisons after him. He decided to go to Cameron land. Although he didn’t explain his reasoning, I suspect he thought it less likely they’d think to look for him there. I know he didn’t wish to bring any more battles to MacLintock Castle. You know Grandsire. He worries, especially over the wee ones.”

  “Did you know the sheriffs? Scottish or English?”

  “Busby and DeFry. Both are Scottish, and they claim allegiance to King Robert. I trust DeFry and so does Alasdair. Busby we don’t know as well. We met him in Berwick.”

  Her sire rubbed his jaw in thought. “Derric said King Robert is headed north and he plans to join up with him as soon as you’re hale. What are your plans once you’ve healed?”

  “Papa, I’d like to go with Derric, see what is happening in the north.” She watched her father, the man she so adored for all he’d done for her family—rescuing her mother and Claray, finding a home for the orphans Thorn and Nari, who now lived with her uncle Loki.

  “Why?” Leave it to her father to keep his words short. And really, it was just as well with her pounding head.

  “I can’t explain it, but I have a feeling something important is about to happen in the Highlands. And I know it will not happen here. I dreamed that I was chasing someone on horseback. Derric is heading north. Perhaps I need to travel with him to see what is happening with King Robert. According to Uncle Aedan, there were two garrisons of Englishmen and two groups of Lowlanders traveling north.”

  “Did you know who you were chasing
?” Her parents trusted her seer abilities. They’d learned from experience that her hunches were always right.

  “I know what you’re asking. Was it Grandsire? Perhaps. And yet, I felt two conflicting premonitions on Cameron land. One was that Cameron land was the safest place he could go, especially with Lochluin Abbey so close. I believed it was a good decision.” She stopped to massage her head, hoping more premonitions would come, though she knew it was unlikely with such an ache in her head.

  “And the other?”

  “When I waved to Grandsire, I had the odd feeling that it would be the last I saw of him for a long time. That made me ill. I tried to open myself to more premonitions, but then the fever took over. I couldn’t stop it. I was so cold in the rain.”

  She waited for his counsel because he always gave such good advice. He and Uncle Jamie had a rare ability to see down to the core of an issue. She’d said as much to her sire, but he’d told her it was a talent born of experience.

  “No reason to think on it anymore. I’ve told you that you need to allow them to come to you in their own good time. Molly always told us that you cannot rush such things. They come to you or they do not.” He peered at her, then asked, “Do you have an interest in this Derric? I’ve not minded you traveling with your cousins, but this man is not related to you.”

  “Papa, there were Grant guards with us, just as there will be if we go north together. And nay, I have no interest in him.” The lie had spilled out of her so easily, without any premeditation, and she understood why—her father would never let her travel with Derric if he knew the truth. “Grandsire made him promise to bring me to Grant land. He was with us for much of the journey.”

  “So he must trust him, which is a good sign. I’m aware of the presence of the guards, but I was young, too. He gave you his heat when you were shivering, did he not?”

  “Aye, but I barely recall it. I was too sickly. He acted honorably.”

  “Good to hear. But I’d like to have a chat with young Derric,” her father said, rising from his chair. “You sleep. You’re going nowhere in your present condition.”

  She knew what that meant—yet another of her relatives was about to threaten Derric, and her father was the most intimidating of all. He’d probably run like the wind.

  She rested her head down on the pillow and murmured, “Papa?”

  “Aye?”

  “He’s already been threatened by Alasdair and Els, plus Grandsire had a long talk with him. Please don’t frighten him away.”

  His father smiled. “Then he does mean something to you.”

  She sighed, unable to deny what her heart told her. “Aye, I do like him. I must thank him for bringing me safely home.”

  Would that convince her father to stand down? She could only hope.

  ***

  Derric was in the lists, practicing with Alick. Although he’d been impressed with the men on MacLintock land, Grant land was another world. The warriors here had sword skills the likes of which he’d never seen. And the land itself…

  He enjoyed the view of the snow-topped mountains and had even ridden out to the loch earlier, the water rippling in the wind in a way that calmed his soul.

  A strange thought had passed through his head on the heels of that one.

  He could spend his life in a place like this.

  “Pay attention,” Alick said. “Is your mind wandering, or are you just thinking of Dyna?” He smirked as he said it, but at least he hadn’t threatened him with a wild boar. Yet.

  The tallest man he’d ever seen stalked toward them, his gaze directed at Derric. He knew without asking that it had to be Dyna’s sire. He’d heard about Connor Grant’s sword skills and his abilities as a leader of Clan Grant. He also bore an uncanny resemblance to his father, Alex, and to Dyna. If he wondered why Dyna was so tall for a lass, the answer stood in front of him.

  Some whispered that Connor Grant was the finest swordsman in the land. Others insisted that honor belonged to his cousin Loki. Derric had never seen either man fight.

  He lowered his weapon, nodding a greeting to Connor, and Alick turned to see what had caught his attention. “Uncle Connor,” he said in greeting, and his uncle stepped forward and clasped his shoulder.

  “Take a step back, Alick. I’d like to see if this man has any skills.”

  Alick provided an unnecessary introduction—“Derric, this is Dyna’s sire, Connor Grant.”

  “Greetings to you, Laird Grant. My thanks for your hospitality. I don’t plan to impose on it for long.”

  Connor Grant stepped closer to him, his keen eyes assessing everything he could in one look, if Derric were to guess. “You’re welcome anytime. You brought my daughter home safely, and I know she can be a wee bit stubborn. With a fever, she’s nearly unbearable. But we raised her to be a strong lass. My wife and I don’t believe there’s a difference between the strength of men and women.”

  Derric arched a brow at that statement. He wished to argue with him. After all, men were on average larger than women. Better swordsmen.

  As if reading his mind, Connor said, “Physical strength isn’t everything. We raised Dyna to be skilled in archery, and her mind is as keen as any man’s.”

  “I’ll not disagree with you there, Chief.” She was smarter than most of the men he knew. “She’s a talented lass.”

  “Spar with me, Corbett?”

  “Aye.” Doing his best to hide the sudden tremors shooting through him, he turned away, giving the man a chance to stretch his muscles. He’d heard once that older men had to be more careful about such things.

  “Take the first swing, Corbett,” Connor said, signaling he was ready.

  Derric turned back to find the man staring at him intently with a narrowed gaze. It was intimidating enough to make him consider leaving, but he decided to stand tall and do his best. This was exactly the reason he’d been fighting and practicing with the Grant cousins.

  Derric took a swing that Grant easily blocked, parrying it so powerfully it nearly sent him into the air. But he wouldn’t give in so easily.

  Many of the other men had stopped their own practicing to watch, but Connor ordered, “Keep them back, Alick. They’re not to be close enough to overhear our conversation.”

  Alick followed his uncle’s instructions, moving the onlookers back. Derric had an odd feeling that the chieftain was playing with him, just keeping the contest going until he had the chance to see if Derric had any skills at all.

  This was a test.

  He had every intention to rise to the occasion.

  Next to Connor Grant, he had very little to offer, but he gave it his all, strictly because the man was Dyna’s sire. He hated to admit it, but he wished to impress the man for Dyna’s sake, and his sword skills were all he had to offer as proof of his worth. What more was there for a traveling camp follower of Robert the Bruce? You fought well or you weren’t valued.

  He’d parried with Alick for quite a while before taking on the chieftain, having no idea he’d be called to perform against the Grant, and his shoulders began to ache from the onslaught. He did his best to hide his pain, continuing to hold his own against the legendary swordsman opposite him.

  They didn’t battle for long before Connor let loose his strongest blows, driving Derric backward with the onslaught, barely able to stop the powerful thrusts until he tripped and fell on his backside, losing his grip on his sword and dropping it to the ground.

  Connor Grant stood over him, settling the tip of his sword a bit away from his throat. He bent over Derric and said, “My thanks for bringing Dyna home, but you’d be wise to remember whose daughter you tarry with once she’s hale.”

  Derric gave him a brief nod, trying not to focus on the sword point that was uncomfortably close to his throat. He’d been threatened by her cousins, her grandfather, and now her father.

  He shouldn’t be surprised, but he was. Connor tossed his sword to the ground, then offered him a boost to his feet, the man barely breat
hing any faster than he would be if he were eating his dinner. When Derric was standing in front of him, Connor asked, “Do you have any intentions toward my daughter?”

  Derric lied his arse off and shook his head. “We’re friends. I fought with the four cousins in Glasgow, and Els is married to my sister. ’Tis no more, no less.”

  Bloody hell, but he’d just lied to the toughest swordsman of all the Scots.

  He was a dead man.

  Chapter Eleven

  Later, Derric requested a visit with Dyna, and her mother escorted him up to see her. She did not move once the whole time he was there, although it was admittedly just a few minutes.

  “I don’t wish to disturb her,” he said to Sela Grant, his eyes locked on Dyna’s prone body, her even breathing telling him she was healing simply because it was calmer and more rhythmic than it had been the previous day. “You have spoken with her?”

  “Aye, she’s awakened. Actually ate porridge this morn, but her head was still paining her.”

  He stayed for a few minutes longer and then took his leave, fighting the urge to lean over and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Her mother had said little, though her gaze had taken in everything he did. He knew where Dyna had gotten her willowy shape, her pale hair, and her ice blue eyes. She looked exactly like her mother. The sheer contrast of Connor, dark-haired and huge, and Sela Grant, willowy and white-haired, standing next to each other had to be arresting. He understood why they were leaders of their clan.

  Last eve, Connor had given him leave to sleep in the chamber at the end of the great hall, apparently Alex Grant’s chamber. Alick had led him to it the previous night, pointing to the small bed to the side rather than the behemoth in the center of the room. “This one’s yours. No one sleeps in Grandsire’s bed.”

  He returned to the chamber and removed his tunic and his boots and fell onto the bed. The swordplay had exhausted him enough that he was asleep in seconds.