The Highlander On The Run (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 1) Page 11

  “Lass, it’s alright. Stop your fighting…Please?”

  Addie whipped round. The hand disappeared from her mouth. She gave a cry, only to have him lift his finger to his lips, a gentle admonishment.

  “I had to come back,” he whispered.

  “You fool!” she said, even though she was laughing, heart soaring. “You daft, crazy…” she shook her head, and wrapped her arms around him, staring into his eyes. “You shouldn’t have!”

  “How can you think I’d turn my back on ye?” he said. His eyes, warm and tender beyond what she could imagine, looked into her own. “How did ye think I’d no come back tae see ye? I had to.”

  Addie shook her head, and, overcome, hid her face in his damp shirt. “Crazy man! How can ye take this risk?”

  “I couldn’t leave. How could I? Addie…”

  He kissed her and her whole body started to ache. She wrapped her arms around his chest, drawing him into her warmth, wanting to keep him held there forever, or just a bit longer…

  “No,” she murmured, as he, gasping, stopped. “No.”

  “Addie,” he said, stroking her hair with gentle touches. “I can’t leave. I cannae be where ye are not.”

  “You can’t stay here,” Addie said miserably. “If you stay, you’ll be killed. And worse – you’d like as not be pleased by death, after they’d finished with ye. Please. You have to leave.”

  “I will not go,” Alexander said. “They can threaten as they please. I cannae leave ye.”

  Addie felt her heart ache. He had to go! He would die, if he stayed. The only way she could make him leave was to shout at him.

  “You fool,” she hissed. “How can you think of it? What would become of me, if you died?”

  “I cannot leave ye. What if…what if you…we…”

  “If we have a bairn?” she challenged, angrily. “Well, then. It would rather have a father it can be proud of still alive, living in some fortress, than have a dead traitor as his sire.”

  Alexander stepped back. His hurt was in his eyes. “Traitor?” he said, his voice tight in his throat. “You really…is that what you think of me? All you think, of me?”

  Addie stared at him. She was too surprised to speak. Did he really think she thought that? She stepped back, looking at him from the distance of five paces.

  He seemed to shrink before her. He didn’t look angry, or threatening. His shoulders had slumped and he looked simply tired. As well as infinitely sad.

  “I know I’m not a man you could be proud of,” he said gratingly. “I ken I’m a rebel, fighting for a cause few can support, or even understand. I ken that you deserve better. I also ken you’re for Baliol, and you cannot see me as anything but outlaw.”

  Addie blinked. She had been willing to explain, to discuss. Yet to say that…! To suggest her loyalty to her former master meant more to her than…than…

  “Well,” she said sorrowfully. “If you believe that…if you truly think my loyalty to Baliol means more to me than you, then what more can I do? You should leave.”

  The woods were silent. Only the wind moved, keening overhead.

  “I don’t want to think it,” he said after a long pause. “But when you said that, I…” he stopped, biting his lip. “You think I am a traitor.”

  “I don’t!” Addie yelled. “I don’t believe that. I loved you from the moment I saw you, Alexander. I think you are a brave man, and that you support a worthy cause – at least, in your own eyes. I also know what they could think,” she jerked her head towards the castle. “And that you cannot stay.”

  “Addie…” Alexander sighed. Without warning, he reached for her, and she felt herself crushed against his chest, once again. He stroked her hair and his lips were hot and hungry on hers. She gasped and pressed herself against him, desperation adding to her sudden overwhelming need.

  At that moment, they heard a cry.

  “Sergeant! Look lively there! Something moving, yonder.”

  “No,” Addie whispered, even as Alexander lifted his head, sighting up the wall.

  “The guards are watching,” he said, levelly. “I have to go. I will go to the Canley Fort. Ye ken the place? The ruined one, on the tall hill?” he nodded his head to his right, indicating the general direction.

  Addie nodded. She knew it. “Aye…”

  “If ye have need of me, come for me there. We will set a guard, but you are welcome. The watchword’s Thistledown.”

  “Thistledown,” Addie whispered.

  “Aye.”

  Then, before she could say a farewell, he planted a firm kiss on her lips. Turning away, he ran into the woods. He had disappeared as the shouts started.

  Addie, clutching her bundle, walked to the gate.

  “Halt!” a man called. She recognized his voice. She looked up at Rendell. His eyes were hard.

  “Rendell!” she said. “It’s Addie, ye…” You know me.

  “I ken ye,” Rendell said in interruption, before she could get the words out. His voice was unreadable. His eyes were windows on nothingness. Addie felt her soul stiffen. “What were ye doing?” he asked.

  “I was out, collecting herbs,” Addie said, feeling her voice tighten her throat. “I was in the woods, and…and…” she gestured helplessly. She had no way of knowing what he’d seen! How long had they been watching?

  “I understand,” he said. His usually cheerful voice was bloodless. “He will suffer for it, if I ever see him again.”

  “He was in the woods, and…” Addie trailed off. She guessed Rendell assumed he’d been trying to take her by force. At least if that was what he thought, she’d not be seen as traitorous!

  “I understand,” he said raggedly. “And I promise that he will be dealt with. Now, come inside, Addie. If I can do aught…”

  “It’s alright, Rendell,” she said swiftly. “I just need to be alone. Please?”

  “Of course.”

  He walked with her across the courtyard and in through the side door. Addie felt terrible as he walked with her to the staircase that the servants used and then took her hand.

  “If you need anything…”

  “Oh, Rendell,” she murmured. “You are a good man.”

  Before she could start crying, she turned away and walked briskly up the stairs. She heard his heavy soldier’s boots clump down the hallway, heading out again.

  In her room she sat down on the wooden bed, covering her face with her hands.

  “Oh, Rendell,” she whispered. “You care so much for me! And Alexander…”

  She sobbed, hiding her face in her hands. The world she lived in was at war – the fight between Bruce and Baliol, between those who supported England’s hand in their politics, and those who hated England – was tearing it apart. Now it had touched her.

  She closed her eyes, leaning back on the bed. She recalled the feeling of Alexander’s strong body, pressed, so tenderly, to hers. The way his lips played, so lightly, on hers, as if he was half afraid to kiss her. Afraid of what would happen, how he would respond to her. His hands stroking her hair.

  “I will find you,” she whispered.

  She knew where to look, now, which was so much more than she’d had before. She could find him at the ruined fort. That was what she would do.

  As soon as possible.

  MAKING DECISIONS

  The fire crackled in the small dip where Brogan kindled it. Alexander watched the flames intently. Weaving and reddening, they reminded him of long, dark auburn tresses of hair – soft and dense, scented with smoke and lavender, trailing on bare earth as he leaned forward to kiss pale peach lips.

  “I can’t do it,” he hissed.

  “I know. It’s a bad plan isn’t it, sir?” Brogan sighed.

  Alexander shook his head. “Not that,” he said tightly. He threw a stick on the fire. It caught fire, sparks drifting up.

  Brogan said nothing. Alexander sensed how nervous his sergeant was, and he understood why. He hadn’t been himself the last few days
. He was moody and intolerant, snapping at the poor fellow’s every word.

  How can I be aught else? I can’t wake or rest without being haunted by her.

  He stared into the flames.

  It had been three days since he’d brought Addie to the woodlands, since they’d made love. He ached for her fiercely, every part of him a song of agony.

  “We have to find a way.”

  “I reckon our plan might work,” Brogan said, still thinking he meant their new attack strategy.

  Alexander gritted his teeth. The man had every right to be confused. He didn’t want to lose his temper again, either – he’d done so far too many times in these last weeks. He stirred the fire, letting in air, and nodded.

  “I think it can, too. We just need another way to keep an eye on the road,” he said, feeling impatient. He wished that McNeil was still with them. With three men involved, it would be so much easier!

  “It would, sir,” Brogan said. “But we need tae move fast. They’re mighty busy down there at the castle.”

  “What?” Alexander dropped the twig he held. It cracked into sparks.

  “The castle, sir. It’s mighty lively. I was scouting there, in the village – in disguise, of course – and I heard some fellers say that they thought there’d be a spectacle. There were fellers in the square, building some seats, and…”

  Alexander felt his heart stop. “You mean,” he whispered, “they’re going to kill somebody.”

  That was what usually happened in such cases – any public spectacle was like as not to be a public death, a scene to deter the people who might copy the perpetrator’s crimes. Alexander had always refused to let such things happen at his own manse – he preferred his justice to be fair, and mitigative – but he knew the English king didn’t see things as he did.

  Brogan shrugged, not understanding why he was so scared.

  “Mayhap.”

  “But that means…means…” Alexander could barely speak, suddenly. How could this be happening? If there was somebody at the castle, being killed, how likely was it that it was someone he knew? How likely was it that the person to be killed – the traitor who’d been apprehended nearby – was Addie McMurrie?

  “Sir?” his sergeant frowned.

  “Brogan, this is terrible!” he had stood. “We have to go back!”

  Alexander didn’t stop to think. Grabbing his cloak from the branches where it was drying, he shrugged it round his shoulders and checked his dagger was still in its sheath.

  “Sir!” his sergeant beat his arm, trying to attract his attention. “Sir? What? Where are you…?”

  “It’s her!” he was incoherent. “The spectacle! They caught her, and it’s all my fault. I have to save her!” He was already walking up the path, his heart twisting with desperation. He couldn’t believe it! This was all his fault. If he’d never gone back, if he hadn’t seen her…hadn’t kissed her!

  “Sir!” Brogan thumped his arm.

  He twisted round, roaring, his instinct being to punch the fellow, hard. “Sir!”

  Alexander looked at his face. A grimace of horror showed there, but there was also resolve. He sighed and his arm fell to his side.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m being daft. We can’t rush off. We have to plan.”

  “Sir, whatever it is,” Brogan said slowly. “We cannae rush off now. Whatever it is won’t happen tomorrow. The stage is nae built yet.”

  Alexander sighed. His friend had a point. They had a day, at least. They could plan. If he was going to rescue Addie, he needed to take more time than this.

  “I ken you’re worried about the lass.”

  “Aye.” Alexander said nothing more. He stared into the fire. He was glad he didn’t have to explain any further. He had known it wouldn’t be possible to conceal his night with Addie from Brogan. The fellow had at least done him the courtesy of sleeping in the outdoors.

  “I ken ye think they saw her with us.”

  “Aye,” Alexander said tightly. He wasn’t going to tell Brogan that he had gone back to the castle, that he’d seen her there. He felt so stupid that he didn’t think he’d tell anybody, ever.

  “So, they have her at the castle. And we have to get her out.”

  “Aye,” Alexander nodded.

  “We need horses,” his companion said.

  Alexander raised a brow. “Aye,” he agreed, a plan already forming in his mind. “We do need horses. If we had them, one of us could make a diversion at the gate, and the other one could search the place – go in through the water gate, find out where she is. We could meet up in the courtyard and get her out.”

  “Maybe,” his friend agreed. He looked worried.

  “If we had horses, we could tether them near the water gate.” Alexander was already seeing the outline of a plan. He knew it wasn’t perfect – it was still very dangerous. It needed some refining, if either of them was planning to survive. It was possible.

  “Sir?” Brogan frowned. “What’s your idea?”

  Alexander told him. Brogan nodded slowly, hearing the idea. He and Alexander refined it as the night deepened, adding aspects to the plan that would make it safer, more reliable.

  Exhausted, sometime after midnight, Alexander dropped off to sleep. His last thoughts as he fell into oblivion were of her.

  The next morning, they were both quiet. Brogan had made a fire, and Alexander went to fetch water from the river, filling a small iron pan that they would heat over the coals. They had oats with them, and they would make porridge for breakfast.

  “So,” Alexander said, spooning up the last of the warm, glutinous mass. “I reckon we should go.”

  Brogan nodded slowly. “We should start soon. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish – and best to finish before nightfall.”

  “Aye,” Alexander nodded, stretching expansively. “Let’s start.”

  It felt good to be doing something.

  They were heading closer to the village when the wind came up. Alexander drew his cloak about him, shivering. It wasn’t just the wind that chilled him – it was because of how tense he felt. He walked slowly to the settlement, heart thudding in his chest.

  “I hope it works.”

  Brogan looked up at him, and Alexander noticed he was smiling.

  “It works so far, sir,” he observed. “I’d barely recognize you.”

  “Thanks,” Alexander said, feeling himself slowly give a tight-lipped smile.

  He and Brogan had decided that, since they’d likely both been noted by the soldiers, they had to disguise themselves. Brogan had rubbed ash on his face so that, now, he had a livid black eye, or seemed to have. His hair was covered with a cloth cap, pulled down over his ears. He walked bent over, a sack on his back in which they’d stuffed their cloaks. With a freshly carved staff in his hand, he looked like a peddler or a rag man.

  “I hope I look as strange as I feel,” Alexander murmured.

  Brogan chuckled. “You do look strange, sir.”

  Alexander shot him a look. They both laughed. It felt better, the stress relieved somewhat by the innocent teasing between them. He reached up, feeling strange without his hair.

  The long curls they’d crudely trimmed, and the rest – for Alexander wouldn’t countenance shaving it all away – they had concealed beneath a swathing bandage. With dirt and ash added, Alexander looked as Brogan – a wounded traveler.

  They reached the gates.

  “Who goes there?” a guardsman challenged. He was dressed in the same livery as the men who guarded the main gates of the castle – the village was, at least in part, built within the swathing curtain wall.

  “Two traders,” Brogan said in a quavering voice. “Seeking aid.”

  “We met with trouble on the road,” Alexander put in. He reached up and touched the bandages, as if to draw attention to them.

  “I see you did,” the fellow chuckled insolently. “And what sort of aid do ye think ye’d get here? We’re a castle, not a monastery.”<
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  Alexander felt his brow rise. I might have only a small manse, but it’s my duty, as a laird, to provide aid to all who seek it!

  “I reckon we…” he began, then, as Brogan glanced up, fought down his sudden rage. “We want food, sir.”

  “It was brigands fleeing the law as attacked us,” Brogan said meaningfully. He gave the soldier an angry look, as if implying he was to blame.

  “Fleeing from the law?” the soldier frowned. Slow-witted he might be, Alexander thought, but he was not without sense. He was starting to guess who it might have been who attacked them. Which was what he was meant to.

  “Aye,” Alexander said remorselessly. “A big feller, with hair to his shoulders, and a little one with a face like a turnip.”

  He heard Brogan draw breath to object, and reined in his expressive narration. “They seemed to be fleeing from here,” he added.

  “I see,” the soldier said. He was thinking – they could see his eyes darting back and forth as he made deductions. He was clearly thinking exactly what they wished. “Wait,” he said. “I need to find my sergeant.”

  “As you like,” Alexander shrugged. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  The fellow glared at him, but hurried off. While he was gone, Brogan glanced up at Alexander.

  “Sir, I have to object,” he began. “I don’t think my head looks like a…”

  “Whist,” Alexander grinned. “Nor do I. Not really.”

  As his sergeant started to protest, somebody shouted.

  “You fellers!” the soldier called. “Over here. Now.”

  Tensing at being talked to like that by a mere soldier, Alexander nevertheless shuffled across the flagstones to the guard post. He kept his head low, looking at his feet. Beside him, Brogan kept up, feigning a limp, as if he had been hurt.

  “Tell this man what you told me,” the soldier ordered. “And don’t leave anything out. We’ll know if you do.”

  “That’ll do, McClymond,” the sergeant said gruffly. “Right, lads. What happened?”

  Alexander reiterated their tale. The man nodded.