The Highlander’s Widow (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 8) Read online

  “I'll wait.”

  “Go, Alec?” she whispered. “Please?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Turning slowly, clearly against his wishes, Alec left.

  Amalie watched him go. She felt as if she might never see him again. She stared after him, trying to commit the strength of him, the upright carriage, the grace of the man he would become, to mind. Her soul rejoiced, knowing that, at least, he would be safe. “Go well, Alec.”

  She turned back to the clearing, and the riders.

  The hoof-beats were close now. She could hear one coming. She turned and faced him, back straight. “Come on, you blackguard!” she said grimly. “You should be ashamed, to threaten a lone woman and her child.”

  A man rode onto the path. He was wearing the green and blue livery of her uncle's men. She heard other hoof-beats, following behind him. The man rode hunched over, as if some injury had been done to him, on his left side. She saw him look up, death-pallid, dark eyes glittering.

  Howling in triumph, he rode toward her. Another man crashed out of the undergrowth, and she felt herself pulled from her horse, drawn onto the back of a second. That was when she saw the third rider.

  “Bronan!” she screamed. “Help!”

  That was the last thing she could say before the speed of the horses, the weariness and fear, took away all her power of speech. Wordless, she was hauled off into the darkness of the forest.

  AN UNEXPECTED ESCAPE

  The forest flashed past – trees and boughs and shadows. Her eyes watering, lungs burning, Amalie did her best to hang onto the reins. Even as she did it, she wondered at the sense of that. Surely it would be better to fall off and be crushed then to be dragged off to some unknown fate?

  Nonsense, Amalie, she told herself firmly. You need to see what happens next in the tale.

  Death wasn't even a thought that occurred to her – she wanted to live. She wanted to see her son again. And Bronan. Yes. She needed to see Bronan again.

  His face filled her mind even as her eyes blurred with watering, the wind of their passage stinging them. She had to see him again.

  Had he lived? Or was he wounded in the battle, fatally?

  If that had happened, she realized, she would rather fall. Her heart did not believe it though. It didn't ring true. He was alive.

  And I will live.

  She hung on. The pace slowed. She heard the man on the horse beside them double over, coughing.

  “Whist, Camden,” the man riding behind her said. He grabbed her upper arm, holding it tight, as if belatedly he realized she could escape. “You're no' up to riding.”

  The man next to them swore, annoyed. “I'll ride better than you can, Greer, if I've been shot.”

  The man behind her, Greer, laughed. “Mayhap, lad,” he said. “But neither of us is going to be doing much riding if we get this wrong. So we either ride on or we stop off here for the night.”

  Camden stopped coughing. She felt Greer tense and turned to see the former giving him a threatening glare. She tensed, trying not to move a muscle. If they were arguing among themselves, that went well for her. She might have a chance to get away. She held still and waited for them to make some sort of a choice.

  “If we stop here, we'll get back to Dunradley tomorrow by noon.”

  “Aye,” Camden, the injured man, nodded slowly. “And then his lordship'll be right happy to see us,” he said, with heavy irony. “We'll be lucky if he lets us go back to Astley with our name disgraced.”

  “Och, stop your nonsense, lad,” Greer growled back. “His lordship will be glad that we succeeded. And when we bring the lass back..?”

  “Well, we did it,” the latter admitted. “But if we stop here the night? Who'll keep an eye out, eh?”

  “We'll tie her up,” Greer growled. “And take turns watching.”

  Amalie felt sick. How was she going to get away? She had to move swiftly, or she would lose her opportunity. She decided on action.

  Groaning as if in intense pain or fear, she rolled sideways suddenly, taking her weight sharply leftward.

  Greer, still clinging to her arm, was pulled likewise left. Yelling, startled, he had little choice but to grab at the saddle to stay on. That loosened the grip on her arm, enough for her to drop to the ground. “Stop her!” Greer yelled.

  Camden, in all fairness, did his best. Even Amalie had to feel sorry for him, as he swung from the saddle and hit the ground, stumbling and grunting in pain. She had no idea what damage Bronan had inflicted on him, but she suspected it was serious.

  Greer yelled. “That way! I'll go this way. Stop her, quick!” He stumbled after her. Amalie was already running.

  Lungs burning, breath heaving, she ran blindly back the way they'd come.

  Feet crashed through the undergrowth after her. Amalie ran. She had to keep ahead of them. She couldn't stop, couldn't lose her footing. She was whispering under her breath as she ran, her whole mind numb with terror.

  “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.” She added, as she ran and grew tired and her breath burned her lungs, “please.”

  The litany continued. The ground grew bumpy and she found the road again. Behind her, she could hear only one set of footsteps now. They were slowing. She was faster than she had thought she was. She allowed herself, finally, to slow.

  “No,” she sobbed, slowing to a fast walk as the footsteps behind her faltered and then faded slowly. Her heart was aching, now, her sides sore, her legs burning. She couldn't see, couldn't think. All she knew was fear, and the need to escape.

  She stopped running and listened. The feet had stopped. She was alone. Somewhere, on the path, at night.

  Looking up at the black shadows of boughs against the sky, she felt completely lost. The wind sighed through the trees and there was a faint glow of silvery light from the stars. She was utterly alone and completely lost.

  All she knew was that the road was under her feet.

  “The path goes back that way,” she told herself. She searched the ground, looking for footprints and hoof-prints. Several marked the path, heading left. That meant, as far as she could fathom, that she had backtracked to where they had originally come from. The two men following them, and the three horses that had carried her, Bronan and her son leftward.

  That meant that, to find them, she had to go that way again.

  Can that be right?

  She sighed and looked up at the sky. The boughs shifted in the slight night breeze. Through the wavering gaps, she saw the silvered light of the stars. In the darkness, they shone brighter than all the candles of the most well-lit ballrooms. She shivered, as if their light brought her warmth.

  The light made her think of another time, in another garden – the house of her childhood. A river had flowed past the walls of the house, and, at certain times of the night, the light from the stars had painted it with bright reflected lines, as vivid as the shine from a mirror. She stared.

  There's a river near the abbey. Can I see it glinting?

  That would give her the direction, at least. Vainly, she looked about for some height from which she could view the surrounding landscape. The road went slightly up an incline. She followed it.

  At the top of the incline she leaned out, peering over the edge. Ahead, to her left and perhaps a half-mile away, she caught the glint of silver waters.

  Weak with relief, she said an inner prayer of thanks, for the light, for the water, and the inspiration. Then she continued.

  “Not long now,” she told herself. The abandoned manor whence she had sent Alec was not far from here, or should not be. It was almost a mile from the abbey, which meant she must be practically upon it.

  She felt calmer, and walked slower, and started to notice things. First, that the ground was scuffed and marked everywhere with hooves. Second, that the trees up ahead were distinctly tall. She vaguely recognized their shape. She nodded, slowly.

  This was where the battle had happened, where Bronan had fought off the foll
owers.

  She felt her spirits soar. She was almost there! She'd managed to reach the place where they started once again. Feeling elated and weary at once, she headed onward.

  As she reached the turning to the abandoned manor, the words came back to her. There will be darkness. Know where to find the light.

  Shaking her head as another layer of the words made sense, she headed sharply right, following the track that, somehow, strangely, she remembered was there. She headed along it, swiftly now, to the manor.

  The marks of hooves scuffed the path here. It was too dark to see for certain, and she knew not enough of tracking, to tell if there was one set here, or two. She felt her stomach flip over with worry.

  One horseman had passed this way, certainly. But who? Alec or Bronan? She closed her eyes, suddenly full of foreboding.

  What if only one of them had managed to come this way? And what if they had not come alone, but were pursued here? She had no doubt in Bronan's skill in fighting attackers – she had seen it now on more than one occasion. But what of Alec? And what of Bronan being wounded, and tired?

  He couldn't have faced another such encounter.

  Nobody could.

  She shivered and looked at the ground, where hoof-prints churned it into grooves and clods of earth, tossed up. Someone had raced along here, but she had no idea who. Shivering, she carried on, knowing that if she stayed here she was in danger, and not only from pursuers. The woods were dangerous at night no matter who you were. In addition, it was cold – the cold in itself could kill, even in autumn. Tonight it was not particularly cold yet, but who knew how cold it might get in the depths of night?

  Shaking her head at her own preoccupation, she headed quickly onward.

  She would have to reach the abandoned manor soon. Turning the corner, she came upon it and stared.

  Lights blazed in the windows. A coach stood, without horses at the harnesses, in the drive. The garden was well-tended, what she could see of it, the paths freshly uncovered and strewn with new, pale gravel that glinted in the silvering light of the stars.

  The abandoned manor was no longer empty.

  Amalie shrank back into the shadow. After the desperation of the run, the escape and the fighting, she had no more life left in her. She doubled over, her legs no longer able to carry her. What was she going to do now?

  Alec.

  That was the thought that chilled her. Where was her son? Had he gone here, seeking help? Had these people accepted him? Or turned him away?

  She had to find out. Her mind was moving slowly after all that action, her body refusing to carry her any longer. However, she had to find Alec. And Bronan.

  The stables.

  She cast her mind back, recalling the horses they had ridden. Alec had a bay stallion, a fine horse. She thought Bronan had ridden a white. She went to go and find them. If the household had received them, they would be there.

  Looking up at the house with the light spilling from the windows, cool and pale into the blue night, she longed to be inside. It was so cold out here – now that she had stopped running, and her body was wet with sweat, she could feel the cold acutely.

  Shivering, she went into the stables.

  “Whist,” she whispered, as the horse neighed, hearing her enter. In here, it was warm. The horses snuffed and shifted and the scent of warm hay and fur made her feel better. She walked along the rows of stalls toward the back, searching for the horse her son had ridden.

  She was feeling desperate as she neared the end. Whoever had taken the manor had eight horses, filling four stalls on either side of the long and narrow barn. She walked down to the end.

  When she reached the end, her heart soared. That was Alec's horse! She was sure of it.

  He saw her and laid his ears back, sniffing. She made a reassuring noise and he breathed out, seeming to recognize her scent. She was just about to check if he'd been tacked out when the person called.

  “Hello?”

  Amalie screamed. She had been so frightened that night that she could not take another ambush. She turned to the door, prepared to run. She found herself staring into a face.

  “So sorry,” the face said. It belonged to a woman. Neither short nor tall, with a pale face and big blue eyes, the woman looked at her tenderly. “I didn't mean to alarm you. I came to see if what Camberwell said was true – that there was an intruder in the stables. Can I help, Mrs....?”

  “Amalie,” Amalie said, not knowing why, but knowing she instantly trusted the newcomer. “Lady Amalie, Countess Inverkeith. I'm sorry. I'm looking for my son.”

  “Oh! My poor lady!” The woman looked instantly concerned. “Your son? Might he be a lad of perhaps sixteen, with dark hair and a serious countenance?”

  “Yes?” Amalie nodded, grinning. “That's Alec! You saw him? He got here safely?”

  “Yes, he did,” she nodded. “And his man with him. Though a difficult sort he is, if I may say.”

  “His man?” Amalie stared at her. She meant a manservant, somebody to dress and tend Alec. “Bronan?”

  “Yes, that's right, something like that.” The woman grinned distractedly. “Looks like he's been in a battle, too! A combative sort.”

  Amalie grinned, feeling tears start to flow already. “He's a difficult sort,” she agreed and nodded. “And he's not Alec's man. He's...well...he's more than that.”

  “Oh.” The woman's brow creased in a frown and Amalie felt suddenly concerned. Would the woman – she must be a gentlewoman too, judging by her manner and dress, and the fact that this house was her own, clearly – would she judge them?

  “Please, can you take me to him?” Amalie said.

  “Of course.”

  The woman helped her out of the stable, looping her arm through hers and drawing her along with her, talking friendly nonsense all the while, as if to cover Amalie's weariness and the fact that she was half-carrying her onwards.

  “And when he arrived I thought to call the physician, for he seemed sorely wounded! But he said no, it was an old injury. And the man...Bronan, so you said, he was insistent. He tended the young count's wounds himself. A fine fellow, I may say, though very difficult.”

  Amalie nodded, knowing she was right and feeling a wash of love for Bronan that he would do that.

  Light. It poured onto her as the woman opened the door. Warmth followed it, and Amalie felt her nose and fingers tingle as the heat returned to them. They stepped inside. She leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly too weary to move.

  Slowly, they headed up the steps.

  The first thing that reached Amalie, through the haze of weariness, was his voice.

  “Och, lad,” he said. “Stop your nonsense.”

  Alec laughed. “I have nonsense? I think you're the one who's causing the more nonsense of the two of us, right now.”

  Bronan laughed too. Amalie's heart rejoiced to hear it, and the witty banter. She walked the last few paces almost at a run.

  “Mama!”

  Alec jumped out of his seat, face split with a massive grin. He ran to her and enfolded her in a hug that made her legs, finally, collapse. She fell back wearily into a chair. Over her son's shoulder, she could see Bronan. He stood and joined them, his face concerned, relief in every line of him.

  “Alec,” she whispered, stroking her hand down her son's strong back. Holding him made her feel safe, and loved. She looked up at the man who stood behind him. “Bronan.”

  “Och, lass,” was all he said.

  “Well,” the woman who'd brought her up here said in a small voice. “I think I will call for some tea?”

  “Thanks, Lady Chlodie,” Bronan said softly. “We appreciate everything most greatly.”

  “It's nothing, Mr. Ludlow,” the woman said formally, though Amalie could hear the softness in her voice. She clearly liked Bronan.

  As soon as she had gone, Alec stepped back. “Mama!” he said. “We thought you were dead! We were trying to make Lady Chlodie send men out to come
and find you, but she didn't understand, and...Mama! What happened? You look like you've been in a battle.” He sounded horrified, taking in her torn gown, her muddy face, her messy hair.

  Amalie sighed, reaching up to the tumbledown locks around her face. She thought she must look dreadful, though she had no idea how bad it might be. “I was captured by those...men,” she said carefully, not wanting to give them any acknowledgment “I got away.”

  “Mama!” Alec's eyes were wide in wonderment. She felt pleased, though in that moment she simply didn't want to discuss it further. “How did you do it? Did you have to attack, or...”

  “Whist, lad,” Bronan said. She saw him cast a look at Alec and felt grateful. He understood how tired she was! She smiled at him, brokenly. “I'm so glad to see you too, son,” she said gently. “And you, Bronan. But I'm tired. I'm sure you are, too. Should we take some tea and go to bed?”

  Bronan nodded. “Aye, lass. That would be a grand plan.”

  A maid, looking even more tired than Amalie herself, brought the tea. Amalie took it thankfully, feeling even drowsier as the heat and the glow from the fire worked through her mind and bones. She leaned back on the richly-cushioned chair and thought she might never find the strength to get up again.

  Bronan and Alec talked, low-voiced, and she simply watched, content simply to be with them.

  When the tea was done, the woman, Lady Chlodie, came to check on them. Amalie tried to rise to greet her, but her legs were too weak.

  “Mr. Steele?” the woman called. “Please carry Lady Amalie to her chamber. The green one? That's right.”

  Amalie was about to protest, but a strong man lifted her up bodily and she was carried, too weak to walk, to a warm bedroom.

  There, she collapsed gratefully into a clean, crisp bed and slept until the sun was high in the sky.

  HASTENING AWAY

  Bronan sat up, feeling weary. He looked about the bedchamber and remembered the night before. He was at the manor he had thought abandoned. Somewhere in one of the rooms not too far away was Amalie.

  Hastening to find her, he washed his face in a dish of clean water someone had thoughtfully set out, dragged his fingertips through his lengthening hair to tidy it, and pulled on a shirt he thought somebody had left there for him – his own was ruined.