Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (79 page)

Aidan almost laughed but controlled himself. He relaxed, his attitude becoming one of forced patience, as if tolerating a child’s immature whims. “Once again, ye have forgotten an important instruction,” he said, his tone patronizing. “Ye allowed yer desire for vengeance tae control ye. Ye sought tae oppose me, but in truth, ye were nothing more than an annoying gnat.”

Even in the dim moonlight, Aidan saw Munro’s face turn bright red with anger. “I will slay ye tonight.”

“We shall see if a gnat can slay a hawk.”

Strangling on an oath, Munro leapt forward again. Instead of moving away, Aidan’s left hand caught Munro’s wrist, shoving it out of the way. He drove forward, intending to bury his dagger in the man’s gut, but somehow Munro wrenched to his left, diving away, and Aidan’s dagger again encountered nothing.

Aidan barely bit back his own curse. He didn’t want Munro to think his baiting would work.

Munro rolled to his feet, and a third time, they circled each other.

“Just as before,” Munro said, his voice suddenly light with a strange humor. “Ye canna seize the opportunity. Ye get close, but yer dagger never finds its target.” He relaxed even more and chuckled. “Ye dare not allow me tae escape this time, for I will target another instead.”

“What mean ye?” Aidan asked in confusion.

“I ken the lassie with ye was Kenna MacLean. I ken exactly what happened tae her. When I depart from this thicket, it will be she who I will hunt. Yer whore will die by my hand.”

The rage that unexpectedly shot through Aidan hazed his vision red; a primitive fury clamped him in his grip. His heart thundered in his chest and his reasoning fled. Aidan never consciously moved, but his dagger shot toward Munro’s chest. Munro avoided it, but Aidan’s left fist was already in motion as a counter punch. Munro, trying to avoid Aidan’s blade, stepped into the path of Aidan’s fist.

His knuckles slammed into Munro’s nose, shattering it and snapping Munro’s head back. Blood flew, streaming down his face. He staggered but didn’t fall. Aidan stepped forward again and thrust his dagger forward with a speed and strength he had never before possessed. The blade buried in Munro’s throat and slammed home in into the bones of his neck.

Munro burbled a strange gasp, his eyes wide in disbelief as his mind struggled to comprehend he would be dead in a matter of moments. Munro dropped his dagger and lurched forward, clawing at Aidan’s arm, the air escaping his throat gurgling strangely in blood.

Aidan didn’t move, his vision finally refocusing. He gripped the hilt of his dagger and lowered it. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe.

Munro’s fingers tightened on Aidan’s sleeve, but then he pulled back. His knees slowly buckled.

“Ye called down the thunder.” Aidan muttered. “Now there be hell tae pay.”

Munro’s knees hit the ground. He tore at his own throat as he battled to gain some air into his lungs. He struggled frantically, a desperate wheeze sounding from his throat, then he toppled to the ground.

Aidan still fought to control his own breathing and gather his senses. Never had such a thing happened, never had any emotion possessed him so completely and ripped his ability to reason asunder. At last, Munro was dead; the traitor had answered for his crimes. But that was of little concern to Aidan now as he struggled to understand what had just happened to him. Just the very idea of Munro touching Kenna—

Shouts of men sounded surprisingly close and jerked Aidan back to the present. Holy hell, what was he doing? They would be on him in moments. He focused solely on escape and sprinted away.

Knowing he had to once again gain distance, Aidan ran until he thought his lungs would explode. The voices behind him faded, and the hope that they would give up the chase grew. Suddenly, a barked shout renewed the voices, and Aidan knew they had found Munro’s body.

Unfortunately, finding the fallen spy only fired them up again. They quickly spread out, glowing torches bobbing through the darkness. Aidan cursed again and kept running.

Once again, Aidan found some heavy undergrowth to hide under, but it was thinner than he would have liked. Still, he couldn’t risk them getting a clear view of him as it would only spur them on. Luckily, there was a heavy mat of dead pine needles and leaves, and he was able to use that to obscure his form even more.

As before, men ran past him, everyone shouting, claiming they saw him, but all were clueless. He struggled to catch his breath, watching to make sure no one doubled back. Again he saw boots approaching. The urge to bolt rose so powerfully within him he had to force himself to remain. He saw the leader stop in front of him. Aidan fisted his dagger, his entire body coiled as he prepared to strike.

“Yeoman,” the man bellowed.

“Aye?” A young man emerged from the trees.

“We’re moving too far afield. Recall the others.”

“But he slew Munro.”

“Recall them!” the man snapped. “The farther we move from the army, the more vulnerable we become. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow. Increase patrols in size and frequency for tonight as I told you.”

The young man nodded. “Aye.” He strode away, barking orders to the men.

The leader shook his head and walked away.

Aidan breathed a sigh of relief as the man left, his grip relaxing on his dagger. He waited until he was certain the men had departed and it wasn’t a ploy to draw him out before scrambling from his hiding spot. He winced as his back and shoulder protested; he had hidden too long and his muscles had grown tight. Blessed Mary, help him. It was going to be a long walk back to the Bruce’s camp.

A
idan struggled over the loose shale on the trail as it cut up the rise. He was frozen to the core and barely able to put one foot in front of the other. A fortnight had passed since he had left the camp. His horse had been slain out from under him and had barely escaped the English with his head still attached to his shoulders.

Yet he counted himself lucky. He was still alive, although the loss of the horse perturbed him.

“Halt,” a guard snapped as he and another man emerged from their hiding place. “State yer business.”

Aidan stopped and glared at the man.

He blinked twice. “Milord?”

“Aye,” Aidan growled.

“Glory man, what happened tae ye?”

“Long story and I am much too weary tae tell it.”

“The brigands didna find ye, did they?”

Aidan’s heart lurched in alarm. “Nay.”

“His Majesty be concerned. The brigands made it into the camp and attacked.”

Horror cut through him. “What happened?” he asked hoarsely.

“I dinna ken, I wasna there at the time. But the hut yer kinsmen resided in burned tae the ground.”

“Were they hurt?”

“I ken not, I havena seen them. But I dinna look for them,” the man said with a shrug.

Aidan lurched forward, fear and worry giving him strength.

He had traveled another furlong when another pair of guards challenged him. Bloody hell, the Bruce did not have so many when they arrived. But increased patrol numbers only added credence to the first guard’s story.

“Halt!”

“I must report tae His Majesty,” Aidan snapped, unwilling to break stride.

“Praise be, yer kinsmen will be glad tae see ye,” the guard said.

“Are they well? The first guard told me of the attack but didna ken if my kinsmen be alive or dead.”

“I saw yer man, Connell, shortly after the attack, covered in blood. I was due at my post and couldna stay.”

“The lassies,” he asked, desperation filling him. “Did ye see the lassies?”

“Nay, my lord. I only heard the brigands charged the hut after them and it caught fire.”

“Damnation,” Aidan growled and pushed past him.

Aidan practically sprinted the rest of the way up the trail. What had happened? How had the brigands made it into camp? His vow to Kenna resounded in his head, his own voice mocking him. His promises to her haunted his memory, tearing at his heart. His worst fears possessed his thoughts. The Bruce had forced Aidan on this fool’s errand of a spying mission, and during that time the knights had attacked, killing not only the child but Mairi and Kenna.

It took Aidan an hour to cross the mile of harsh terrain and loose shale before he crested the rise. He looked into the bowl valley of Glen Trool. The camp appeared as normal as ever. He trudged down the road, his leg muscles burning. He did not see Kenna or anyone he knew. But as he approached, he spotted the blackened rubble of the hut they had once shared, and his heart nearly shattered. He forced his leaden legs to move and trotted down the hill, where he came to a stop, staring at the destruction before him.

Nay, not again. Not like this, please, not like this.

“Who goes?” a guard snapped.

Aidan ignored him, his exhaustion catching him unexpectedly. He dropped to his knees.

“Young MacGrigor?” the guard asked. “Be that ye?”

“W-what happened?” Aidan asked. The wind blew the soot in his eyes, causing them to water. He squeezed them closed.

“Brigands,” the guard said, gripping his arm and hauling him to his feet. “But we defeated them. Yer lassie and clansman await ye.”

Aidan blinked his vision clear, struggling to focus where the guard pointed. He saw a slight form moving around another hut, this one larger and in good repair. She was a wee thing, the glow of her light-colored hair muted in the weakening light. Hope blazed a path through him and warmed his heart. “Kenna?”

“Aye,” the guard said, giving him a gentle push in the proper direction. “They are well. Yer lassie be worried about ye.”

Aidan didn’t know if Kenna heard him or if she saw his movement, but she spun and stared at him, blinking in surprise. Then she smiled, dropping the wood she had gathered. “Aidan!” she cried and rushed toward him.

Suddenly, she was in his arms. Aidan held her with all of his strength, sending grateful praises to the heavens. His vision blurred again as his eyes watered even more, but he knew it was from the soot still in them—at least that’s what he told himself.

“Aidan,” she murmured clinging to him. “Are ye all right?”

“I am now,” he said hoarsely.

“Where’s yer horse?”

“Dead,” he said tightly.

She stared at him in shock and cupped his face in her hand.

Aidan suddenly became conscious of the two-week-old beard on his chin and that a good part of the trail still clung to his face and clothing. In spite of how he knew he must appear, he pressed her hand against his cheek and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her touch.

“Ye be shaking,” she murmured. “God, ye be half-frozen. Come inside.”

“What happened?”

“Come inside,” she said again, tugging on his arm. “I dinna want Bruce tae see ye. He’ll demand an audience.”

“Aye,” a voice said sharply.

Aidan looked up, his arms tightening around Kenna. His heart went cold as he saw the Bruce and his ever-present guards standing before him.

“Y-your Majesty,” Kenna whispered, dropping into a quick curtsey. She wore a plain woolen dress under the heavy woolen plaid he had given her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “I pray forgiveness, but he lost his mount. He be well-nigh frozen through and exhausted. At least allow me tae give him a hot meal.”

“I appreciate yer concern for yer man, lass,” the Bruce said. “But this willna take long. After I speak with him, he may retire, and I willna disturb him the rest of the night.”

Kenna took a breath to argue, but Aidan gripped her shoulder. “I will be fine, lassie,” he murmured. “Let’s have this over and done.”

She looked up at him and swallowed hard but nodded. “I will have some hot food and dry clothes awaiting ye.”

He mustered a smile and caressed her cheek. “Thank ye.” With great reluctance, he released her and bowed to his king. “After ye, my liege.”

The Bruce nodded curtly and strode away. Aidan straightened his shoulders and stepped after him.

They entered the tower house, and the Bruce took his seat at the high table, gesturing for Aidan to take his. But to Aidan’s surprise, he turned to the others and dismissed them. A servant poured mulled wine into their cups, left the bottle next to the king, and then he too departed. Aidan took his cup and drank gratefully as the warm spiced wine eased the chill gripping in his belly.

“Forgive me, my liege,” he said wearily. “But this task has proven quite difficult.”

The Bruce eyed him critically. “Ye look like hell,” he muttered and refilled Aidan’s wine cup. “My men say ye returned on foot. Where be yer mount?”

“Slain. Yer Majesty, ye’d best prepare yer host. The vanguard is certain.”

“Who leads it?”

“Ye ken him well. The Earl of Pembroke, and he brings tae bear over a thousand men.”

The Bruce’s face lost color. “We barely have three hundred.”

“If ye dinna mind me saying, the terrain here favors ye. If ye stand fast, Pembroke willna be able tae send cavalry against ye because of the loose shale on the approach. Only his infantry, and they willna be able tae approach in correct formation. Ye will still be outnumbered but this be our land, not theirs. Ye will even the odds.”

The Bruce nodded. “How long?”

“Perhaps a sennight if the weather holds. Caution yer guards my liege, I believe Pembroke will send his own spies against ye.”

“I will inform them. Did they discover ye?”

“A small band of scouts. Welshmen. An archer got lucky with an arrow and slew my horse.” He paused, studying the king. “Munro rode with them, but I claimed justice. He no longer breathes.”

The Bruce leaned forward, his brows colliding in the middle of his forehead. “So he was in league with Longshanks. He escaped the day after ye left. Forgive me, young MacGrigor, I worried he would claim vengeance.” His scowl deepened. “I canna help but wonder if he had a hand in the brigands entering our camp and attacking yer kinsmen.”

Aidan swallowed against the tightness in his throat as he remembered looking upon the black earth that had once been a hut and fearing the worst.

“The leader, they call him Hurstal,” the Bruce said. “He took a great risk in not only entering my camp but in targeting the two lassies ye brought with ye. Mercenaries are a stern lot; their only goal is tae gain coin. Why do ye think he focused so completely on two lasses?”

“I dinna ken, Yer Majesty, mayhap Munro did direct them. Yer worry he would claim vengeance is a valid one; perhaps he sought tae gain it by striking against those I left behind.”

The Bruce slowly nodded. “Perhaps. But Munro being in league with Longshanks doesna make much sense. He had plenty of opportunity tae shove a dagger in my back. Why didna he do just that?”

“I dinna ken, Yer Majesty,” Aidan said carefully. “I didna have time tae learn his agenda. My life was on the line, and his was forfeit.”

“Aye,” the Bruce said wearily.

“It was because of Munro discovering my track that I lost my horse. I liked that horse,” he muttered and took another drink.

“It was a fine courser. I shall replace it with one equally as fine.”

Aidan looked at him in surprise. The Bruce may have been the king of Scotland, but right now supplies, food, arms, and armor—along with men—were in short supply. Only if the army was to gain a couple of victories against the English and hopefully seize much-needed supplies would that fact change.

“And Longshanks?” the Bruce asked.

“Of course, I didna see for myself, but the word be that his health still be poor and he struggles. I wouldn’t look tae him reaching this area until July or August at least, and that’s only if he lives. ’Tis predicted he willna last much longer.”

This time the Bruce looked at him in surprise. “He’s been dying for over a year now. That’s one reason why I started my bid, but the stubborn old git won’t give up the ghost, not when there be a Scotsman’s neck tae step on,” he muttered then shook his head. “Any word of the bairn?”

Aidan rolled his eyes. “Too many, Yer Majesty. There is a big, stout woman with a bairn rumored tae be of noble birth trying tae reach the Hebrides. Many believe the prince was so drunk he didna ken what he was doing when he bedded her.”

“Maybe she reminded him of the men he favors,” the Bruce said with a sly wink.

Aidan laughed. This was new, he never attributed a sense of humor to the man before, but he obviously had one.

“Perchance that is sooth,” Aidan said, lifting his cup in salute and taking a drink from it. His humor faded as he thought for a moment. “Yer Majesty, may I be so bold as tae inquire yer interest regarding this bairn of supposed noble birth?”

“Insolence again,” the Bruce said softly, but he wasn’t angry. “Ye ken my wife be Longshanks’s prisoner.”

Aidan looked at him, startled. “I had heard a vague rumor but without detail. I doubted its truth. I am sorry, Yer Majesty.”

“I want her returned tae me.” For a moment, the Bruce looked away. When his gaze returned to Aidan’s, he saw a man tormented, not a king. “She is being held in a cage, in public viewing, atop a wall.”

Aidan swallowed hard, seeing the grief and worry in the man’s eyes. For a moment, that’s exactly what Aidan witnessed, a man . . . a husband . . . horrified of what had happened and terrified of what would happen to the woman he loved.

It was the same Aidan suffered with worry over Kenna, only Kenna was not in such dire straits . . . at least not yet.

Aidan lowered his head and closed his eyes. Bloody hell, he was exhausted if his emotions were beating him so badly.

“The bairn I seek is the bastard son of the prince. I need that child tae gain the leverage tae have my wife released.”

Aidan blinked at him, taken aback. “Yer Majesty, I completely understand yer desire, but the reason why the lass with the bairn fled is tae avoid Longshanks’s wrath. Ye ken as well as I do that the English king would never tolerate a question of lineage in regard tae the throne.”

The Bruce finally roused himself. “This be the prince’s son! He will stand for what be right!”

“Ye expect the prince tae oppose his own father over this where he ne’er had the spine tae do so before?” Aidan stared at him, incredulous. “We may have had our disagreements, Yer Majesty, but ye’ve always been cunning regarding politics. This is a fool’s errand.”

The Bruce snarled a curse and rose, pacing the floor in agitation. “Mind yer place, young MacGrigor.”

“I am,” Aidan snapped and also rose. “My brother isna here, therefore I must stand for my clan, and for my country. Trying tae use a bairn that Longshanks wants dead willna give ye the power ye seek.”

“What else can I do?”

“Ye want yer wife back? Then ye gain the power ye need out there.” He jabbed his finger toward the door. “On the field! Ye take it from the bloody English one battle at a time, and ye will get her back.”

The Bruce rounded on him. “Enough! I will hear no more.”

Aidan struggled to control his temper, his exhaustion making his battle that much harder. Nay, he would not fall to it this time. The memories of Berwick haunted his thoughts, and he clamped his jaw shut. He returned to his chair and took a long drink from his cup.

The Bruce paced a bit more then finally sat, his temper also seemingly under control. “At least ye dinna fear speaking yer mind,” he muttered.

“And ye expected no less,” Aidan shot back.

The Bruce laughed, abruptly. “Aye.”

“Yer Majesty, I need tae gather my kinsmen and leave. With the English vanguard so close . . . ye ken a battle be a poor place for two lassies. I need tae return tae Castle MacGrigor.”

The Bruce’s gaze returned to Aidan’s. “I remember when ye said ye couldna marry.”

Aidan flinched, staring at the Bruce in surprise at the change of subject. He remembered the incident the Bruce referred to well. They had both been guests at a revel hosted by another laird. Aidan had barely reached the age of majority, and his friends at the revel had tormented him mercilessly about when he would take a wife. He had told them he would not and why, but he had not realized the Bruce had been within earshot until it was too late.