Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (6 page)

“Take me to see Marcus.”

“Your father would not permit it. ‘Tis too dangerous for you to cross the border to the village, not with the fighting going on, my lady.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “This is all your fault.” She didn’t mean him personally, but she knew he would not want her wedding the Highlander any more than her father would.

When Lord Wynfield did not deny it, she knew then—her father had given him the order, and he had given word to the men who had escorted Marcus out of the keep.

“How bad is he?” She fought valiantly to keep the tears at bay, to believe he was not wounded badly, and that the man who did this to him would pay with his life.

“He is recovering, so I am told, from the little word that we could get concerning his condition.”

“Has father’s physician seen to him?” Considering that Marcus was injured on her father’s land while being forced to leave the castle through no fault of his own, and now the Scots had retaliated, wouldn’t peace come easier if in good faith her father sent his own physician to care for Marcus?

“I have had word that a healer has seen to his injury.”

“I want to see him for myself.” And she would, no matter the obstacle that stood in her way.

“‘Tis not possible, my lady.”

She would make it possible, one way or another.

***

In the small tavern room, Finbar offered Marcus another bowl of fish broth. “Fortunately, you will live,” Finbar said cheerfully, but then his happy countenance darkened. “Which will not be the same for whosoever paid to have you murdered. I am certain he will be surprised to learn that it will take more than three burly men to kill you, however.”

“Then he will try again.” Rob leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, appearing ill at ease.

“The dead men were paid well, I hope,” Marcus said wryly, still confined to the bed at the tavern, feeling out of sorts and in too much pain. Every muscle in his back ached, and he had not the strength to leave the bed since he had been struck down two days ago.

“Aye,” Rob said. “We collected the gold from each of the three men for your safekeeping.”

“Did you learn anything about the lord who ordered my death?” Marcus tried to take another sip of broth, wanting to mend as quickly as he could so he’d be able to fight again when necessary.

“Nay,” Finbar said. “A few Scots took offense to the notion that Englishmen attempted to murder a clan chief when he was only traveling through the area, at the invitation of Lord Pembroke. They have started several skirmishes along the border.”

“The Scots will pay with their lives. For what?” Marcus asked.

“Honor. Pride,” Rob said. “One of their own. Even if they are not Highlanders. Well worth the dying for. You know how it is with some men. Any excuse and they will take it.”

“Aye, which is the same for the other side as well. What of Isobel?” Marcus wanted word about her most of all, but not wanting to hear what he suspected would be the way of things now. Her father would push the wedding forward, forcing her to make the choice between any of the suitors who had come forward.

“Mary sent word that Lord Pembroke said she would wed in a fortnight. He has offered her a choice of seven men,” Rob said.

“Fenton?”

Rob shook his head. “The lass told her da finally how she had broken his nose and feared retribution. Her da substituted his advisor as the seventh man.”

“Wynfield? He is nearly as old as her da!” Marcus cursed and shoved the broth aside.

“Mary said because of the border uprisings and that Lord Pembroke fears Lady Isobel will try to run away, she is being kept under guard in the keep,” Finbar said.

“Good, I am glad he is aware of what she might attempt to do.” As much as Marcus would love to see her again, he didn’t under the current circumstances.

“Lord Wynfield wishes to speak with you. He believes if you talk to the men who are battling the English, they will listen to you and the continued bloodshed will be averted.” Finbar arched a brow. “We would ride on your behalf if you wish it.”

Rob snorted. “The Scots would only listen to Marcus. He is the clan chief and the one so grievously wounded. Except he canna ride for now.”

Marcus considered his options, then smiled. “Tell Lord Pembroke I will speak on his behalf, if he will grant me the marriage to his daughter.”

His cousins both smiled at him.

“If he doesna?” Rob asked.

“The devil take him. I didna instigate this fight, and I willna stop it.”

Rob bowed to him. “I will get word to him at once.”

Rob left the room and Finbar barred the door behind him.

Marcus frowned. “I worry about him taking the message alone to Lord Wynfield.”

“Naught to worry about,” Finbar said. “Several of our allies have gathered to watch our backs. And the six that came from home are here. ‘Tis as safe as it ever is.”

Marcus just hoped that Pembroke would keep his daughter at home and safe from harm. If she learned Marcus had been injured, she would attempt to see him at great personal risk to herself, and he prayed she would not, but he knew her better.

For days, Isobel had plotted and planned a way to escape the confines of the castle to find a way to see Marcus. She had given Mary coins to pay a servant to slip across the border and visit the tavern where it was reported that Marcus was staying. But they could not learn how badly injured he was, only that his cousins were staying close at hand, and several more of his clansmen had arrived to protect him. That meant he had to be injured enough that he could not fight, and she worried even more that he could be dying. She was furious with her father and everyone else who might have had a hand in this.

She wanted desperately to be with Marcus, to see for herself that he was all right and that Cantrell had not said so only to protect her feelings.

Mary slipped into Isobel’s chamber and whispered, “I know what you are thinking of doing, my lady.”

Mary would. She always knew what Isobel planned to do, sometimes even before she thought of it.

“You will help me?”

“You will leave whether I help you or no’.”

Isobel frowned at her. “Then what do you wish to tell me.”

“You are tired after your fright concerning Marcus. You will eat—”

Isobel had no appetite and hadn’t since her father had sent Marcus away.

“You will, my lady, or I willna help you.” Mary looked sternly at her, her mind made up.

“All right.”

“That way you will make an appearance in the great hall to show you are there. You will do the duties you normally perform and when your knight escort is distracted, slip back to the postern gate. You will leave by the postern gates that are being left open later than usual because of the men returning who have been wounded in the skirmishes.” Mary paused. “Cantrell, who has been going across the border to learn about Laird McEwan, asked for more coin.”

“But I have given him so much already.”

“He said he has to bribe several to keep this secret.”

Isobel’s heart beat faster. “He was not to mention this to anyone.”

“A servant canna do anything he or she wishes. He has to have permission, so he has to use the money to bribe others to look the other way.”

“All right. But I will run out of shillings before long.” Isobel gave Mary the coins.

“He has hidden clothes behind the washing barrels. Dress in the alcove and with the borrowed brat covering your head and hair, everyone will believe you are a male servant, no’ a woman,” Mary said, frowning, “though God forbid anything should happen to you. ‘Tis no’ safe for a lass or a man to venture toward the border. Cantrell has gotten word to a couple of Laird McEwan’s men that you wish to see Marcus and they have agreed to escort you from the woods near the keep. You just need to slip past the chaos at the postern gate, and I will help to see that you leave without incident. But you
must
return within a few hours. I willna agree to aid you if you dinna.”

“I cannot stay with Marcus,” Isobel said, “or my father would have him thrown in the dungeon, wounded or not, and I can see a full-fledged battle ensuing. I just wish to see him.”

“Aye, lass. A thick fog cloaks the area, which can be good, but also can be bad. Mind the time. I have warned McEwan’s men thus as well. The laird doesna know you are coming to see him. He would say no.”

Overwhelmed with hopeful joy, Isobel threw her arms around Mary and hugged her.

“There, there, lass. ‘Tis what I would have wanted done for me if I were in your shoes. And I know you will go anyway to see him, so I would rather we did this in the safest manner possible.”

“Thank you, Mary.”

“Aye, well, once you have departed the grounds, I will return to your chamber, bolt the door, and talk away to you in a scolding way, pretending to be speaking with you while you are ignoring me. The knight will hear me and believe you are here as I dinna talk to myself, usually. Then I will say something about you going to sleep and will lapse into silence.”

Isobel prayed it would work.

“It is time.”

With her stomach jumping with fluttery worry, she and Mary departed the chamber with the knight in tow. At the meal, Isobel ate as much as she could force herself to, too upset over Marcus’s injury and too unsettled about traveling across the border with the men fighting to eat very much. Mary was watching her and so she ate as much of the fish soup, venison, and bread that she could manage, before she slipped away to the kitchen to speak to Cook about the meal for the next day. Afterward, she stopped at the billets where men injured in the skirmishes were being cared for. Once she began to aid the healer, she noticed her knight escort left, probably figuring she would be there for a while, and he could take care of personal business.

She finished bandaging a soldier’s arm, then left the billets and found the change of clothes where Cantrell had hidden them behind a barrel of soapy water. The washer women were busy hanging the clothes to dry and thankfully didn’t notice her. Unless he had bribed them to—look the other way.

Fearing she would be caught at any moment, Isobel changed into the servant’s clothes—trewes, a brown wool tunic, and then fastened the gray brat at her throat. She tucked her own clothes behind the washer barrels and hoped no one would find them. After pulling the wool brat over her head to cloak her hair and face, she hurried out of the keep and saw Mary watching for her, her brows furrowed with concern.

Isobel kept her head low so no one would see her face as she headed for the back gate. The thing of it was, with so many coming and going through the postern gate, no one paid her any mind. Not when she was wearing men’s clothes and leaving, not coming in. When she returned, they might inspect her some, but by then the deed would be done.

Thanking God that no one detained her, she stalked through the gate and headed for the woods, gladdened to see the gray fog cloaking the area. Several more hours of light remained, so she had to hurry to meet up with her escort in the cover of the woods and then go from there, and return well before it grew dark.

Her skin chilled with trepidation and heart pounding, she quickly made her way to the edge of the forest, praying that she would run into the right men or she could be in serious trouble.

When she saw Rob on foot, his sword drawn, two horses nearby, she nearly cried out with relief. “‘Tis me,” she said, hoping no one else would hear her but Rob and his kinsmen serving as her escort and not her own men.

“My lady.” Rob quickly helped her to mount the spare horse.

She then saw six men, all wearing trewes and tunics, all nodding their greetings, several fighting smiles, though she knew this was a deadly business and if her men found her with the Highlanders, they would attempt to kill every one of them for taking off with her. But she suspected the men were glad to see her when she wished to visit Marcus and maybe even lift his spirits.

“They are all of the clan,” Rob said. “Come, we must ride quickly and return as soon as we can. We want no one to learn that you have slipped away.”

“Aye. Is he…is he well?”

“Aye, lass. He will want me skinned alive when he learns we have done this, but I know you, and I believed ‘twas safer this way, than worrying if you’d try to do this on your own.”

“Thank you, Rob.”

“Marcus will not be pleased,” Rob again warned her.

“I had to see him.”

“Aye, lass. I know.”

They traveled for some time in silence, avoiding the fighting, swords clashing and men shouting in two different areas, though they could not see the men battling for the woods and distance they were from Isobel and her escort. Trying to avoid any encounters with the men made for a longer journey, and her stomach tightened with concern all the more. When they left the cover of the woods, a shout from somewhere in the distance startled her and her heart did a little skip. Instantly, her skin chilled as she realized someone had spied their small party and warned his own people. Men on horseback suddenly appeared out of the fog as they left the woods and rode toward them. Ten of them. She held tightly onto her reins as her borrowed horse made a step back, and she feared he would bolt.

Her party halted, and Marcus’s men unsheathed swords while they circled around her to protect her. She loved Marcus’s kin. With all her heart, she wanted so to be part of his family.

Her skin prickling with fear though, she slipped her
sgian dubh
out of its sheath hidden beneath the brat, the one Marcus had given her when she was a young girl. She treasured it, but she didn’t believe she could fight men who wielded swords. If one of them lost his, she could get it and use the training she’d learned when she was but a wee lass fighting Rob and Finbar in mock battle and maybe gain the advantage. They wouldn’t expect that she could fight.

Then again, they probably thought her a lad and not a woman the way she was dressed. A lad would have trained how to fight in the Highlands from a young age.

“Hold!” Rob shouted. “We are kin to Marcus McEwan.”