Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) (27 page)

Do not you love me?

Emily had no talent for healing like Kenna. Working with the sick was out of the question. In fact, she found she grew squeamish at the sight of blood.

But the good sisters of the priory had quickly reminded her that the jobs in the chapter house had to be earned. They were not given out freely, no matter how highborn an entering postulant might be. The prioress decided the safe place for her to start was in the kitchens.

After only a few days, the stocky, red-faced nun running the kitchen was begging her superiors to find Emily something else to do. Anything. Indeed, the prioress was now searching frantically, before she burned down the entire priory or poisoned the staff.

Emily’s hands were beginning to look like skinned meat from the scalding and the cuts from sharp knives. And the burns up and down her arms were dreadful. She had two egg-sized lumps on her forehead from slipping on a wet floor and from banging her head on an iron cooking pot. She seemed vulnerable to any accident.

She knew she was paying the price of a lifetime of being pampered. What bothered her was that she was being taught some very basic lessons about real life and she was a disaster.

But she wasn’t giving up. There was no going back to Craignock. She’d written a letter to her father and sent it off from Dunstaffnage. He would be angry, she knew. But she’d decided it was best if she told him in her own words, rather than putting it all on Kester.

Taking responsibility for her actions. That was what she was going to do.

And she’d told Kester that contacting Kenna was out of the question. Not right now. Not when her cousin was still new to her own circumstances. Also, she knew that any communication with Benmore Castle would come across to James as another effort to deceive him. She’d done him enough harm.

“Do you see how stiff the dough is, Emily? Add a little more water. Pour it right over my hand.”

Emily focused on the old nun she was helping today with the baking. The wrinkled hands were wrist deep in the dough she was kneading. She added the water.

“Nay,” the nun directed sharply. “Too much. Add more flour.”

“We’ve finished this flour. I’ll be right back with more.”

As Emily headed to the special pantry where they stored the flour, she thought she heard the wizened old nun cursing under her breath. There was a problem when she tried to help any of them. These gentle women gave her orders, assuming Emily knew how much to pour or how to mix or how to take the loaves of bread out of an open oven. She didn’t. But she would learn. She had to. This was her new life. True, the obstacles were humbling, but they made her realize how much she lacked. Correcting her mistakes also made her work harder and gave her less time to cry over James.

Emily grabbed a large wooden bowl off a shelf and shoveled flour into it. She tried to guess how much the nun would want. It was better to bring out more than less.

She stepped out of the pantry and her heart stopped dead. A giant was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The sun was behind him, so she couldn’t see his face. But there was no mistaking the long red hair, the tartan, the way he filled the opening with his height, the width of his shoulders, his presence.

Don’t show any weakness, Emily told herself. Be strong. Be fearless. You are a baker now. You don’t need him or anyone.

Clutching the bowl to her body, she started forward. One step and she went into a puddle she hadn’t seen before. One moment she was striding confidently, the next she was lying on her back with a coating of flour on her and a cloud of white hanging above.

He’d overheard what Kenna and Alexander said about her being distraught, but James never imagined she might try to choke herself with flour.

He strolled inside. Several of the nuns were already leaning over, trying to help her. She was covered with white powder. It was in her eyes, her nose, her mouth, and in both dimples. She looked like a fish out of water, gulping for air, as she struggled to wipe the flour away.

Looking at her now, only a step away, he realized that for the first time in more than a week, his head didn’t hurt. His heart wasn’t aching. His mood wasn’t foul. He was actually smiling.

She was sitting, struggling to get to her feet. The nuns saw him, nodded in acknowledgment. He motioned for them to say nothing and pointed at the door. An old nun smiled.

“My heavens, child, but we can’t clean you up here,” she chided. “Come with me. I’ll take you outside.”

James slipped through the kitchen door. Outside, the morning sun was shining through the smattering of clouds. He waited near the door. It took only a minute, but it felt like a year before the kindly nun led Emily out. He offered his hand, and the old woman put Emily’s hand in his.

She immediately tensed, but James held on and drew her out into the sunshine. The nun disappeared back onto the kitchen.

“I thought it was you,” she sputtered, trying to wipe the flour from her eyes. They were finally open, and blue orbs peered out at him from the chalky white features.

“Is that why you took such a graceful tumble? Trying to run away?”

“You’re the one who runs. Not I.” She looked down at the ruined dress, at her hands. She touched her face and grimaced. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m certain that it can have nothing to do with me. The prioress’s office is just that way.” She waved in the direction of the buildings. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to clean up and get back to work.”

She started around the building. He followed. Her dress was plain homespun wool of a dull, indefinable color. Somewhere between gray and brown. The white veil she’d been wearing when he first saw her had disappeared in the fall she took. James stared at the blond curls escaping the thick braid bundled in a knot at the back of her neck. He wanted to touch them, feel their softness against his lips.

She spun around on her heels. “What are you doing?”

“I’ve already finished my business with the prioress. What I have left to do involves you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Her face was still covered with flour, and the blue eyes glaring from beneath thick, powdery lashes were fierce.

“I have a great deal to say to you.”

“If it is more of an apology from me that you’re after, then you can just march out of here. I have no more to give. And there is no point in it, anyway. You don’t hear. You don’t understand. You don’t forgive. You have no heart.”

She walked away before he could say anything in his own defense. He followed. This time, she stopped by the well, dragging out a bucket of water and grabbing a drying towel from the rough-hewn table sitting nearby.

“Will you please go? I don’t wish to be harassed.”

“Am I harassing you?” he asked softly, reaching over and wiping the flour from the tip of her nose.

She leaped back as if she’d been burned. He had to reach out and grab her arm as she nearly toppled backward into the well.

“A wee bit susceptible to accidents, I see.”

“Nay, not in the slightest!”

“So none of this is accidental. The damage you’re doing is intentional.”

“What damage?”

He took the towel out of her hand and dipped it in the water. “These bumps and bruises. The accidents. The prioress told me that you have good intentions. You are committed to become part of their community. You work hard. But you’re a disaster as a nun.”

“Who are you to talk to the prioress about me?”

“I had to make sure of your plans. I wanted to be certain this was not another trick.”

She tried to step away; he gave her no room. She was trapped between him and the well.

“What I’m doing, where I am, how I live my life today, tomorrow, or forever has nothing to do with you. So be on your way. Get away from me. I never wish to see you again.”

“Liar.” He smiled. “Making that arrangement to kidnap me. Then telling me the truth when you could have had what you wanted. Then throwing away your future with Chamberlain. Even walking away from your family and settling on this. Everything you’ve done has to do with me. What kind of nun fabricates lies such as these?”

James used the towel to swab lightly at her brow and nose, and then her cheeks. Her eyes stayed open, watching him. He dipped the towel in the water again and ran it across her full lips, causing her to take a sharp breath.

“Now, tell me again that you don’t want me here.”

Color bloomed in her newly washed cheeks.

“Why are you doing this, James?”

“Because I want to hear your words again. What you told me that day in the mill.”

She shook her head. “Nay, never again. I no longer care for you.”

He leaned toward her. “Don’t you?”

His lips were inches away from hers. James realized that her breathing had become ragged, unsteady. The blush was spreading down her neck. She didn’t turn her face away.

“Very well,” she said, frustrated. She pushed at his chest. He didn’t budge. “Perhaps a little.”

“Well, I care about you, too. And far more than a little.”

She shook her head, forcing herself to think clearly. “This doesn’t explain why you’re here. How did you know where I was?”

“Your man Kester told Kenna. I overheard Kenna and Alexander talking, and here I am.”

This time she slipped around him and walked off.

“Where are you going?” he asked, keeping up with her.

“I will not allow you to be manipulated because of a sense of guilt.”

“Guilt?” He took her arm and turned her around.

“Aye, guilt,” she retorted. “You come here and see my meager lifestyle that I have
chosen
,
and right away decide to do the honorable thing. But I will not have it. I will not tolerate it. Go away. I don’t want you here. You’re interfering . . . with my life.”

She walked away.

Riding from Benmore, a dozen possible conversations ran through his head, but this was not one of them. In the best-imagined discussion, James had pictured arriving and finding that she was delighted to see him. Immediately, Emily would again declare her love, and he would admit how much he loved her, too. And then, they’d set their wedding date.

She wasn’t making this easy.

But all the people moving about the open area and gawking at them were not helping, either.

He caught sight of Emily disappearing through a doorway and ran after her.

The building was ancient but smelled surprisingly of mint and lavender. The hallway was narrow and dark. He heard footsteps going up the stairs and he followed. She was closing a door behind her, but James put his boot in the jamb and then shoved the door open. He stepped in behind her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

He closed the door behind him. The room was small and cramped, with only a narrow bed along one wall for furniture.

“Let’s begin again.”

“You’re not listening, as usual. I’m a nun now. Get out.”

“You’re not a nun. You’re far, far from even becoming a nun. And frankly, the prioress wishes you’d stop trying to be one.”

“That is between her and me. But this is still my cell, and I’m ordering you to get out.”

He raised both hands. “Why won’t you give me a chance to start again?”

“Why? So you can come up with more reasons why poor Emily should be saved, and why you’re the man to do it?”

“How about if I list a dozen reasons why it’s James who needs to be saved, and Emily is the only woman capable of doing it?”

Her eyes met his. She stepped back until she bumped up against the wall. “Please, James. Don’t play games with me.”

“No games.” He moved closer to her. “I’ve been miserable since the day I walked away from you. And you can ask anyone if that is true or not.”

He wanted to reach for her, enfold her in his arms, but he was afraid she’d run. And he wanted to finish what he had to say.

“True, at first I was angry that you’d bested me at my own game. Before I even reached Benmore, I was stupid with misery because I realized that I still loved you. My gloom only increased as I thought back on your words, on the way you tried to make me understand your reasons and how everything had gone wrong. And how I had rejected you. Then, I lay awake at night searching for a reason to go after you, to stop your wedding to Chamberlain, devising plots to break into Craignock Castle and steal you away. ”

He closed the distance between them, cradled her face. Her eyes were misty when they met his.

“I can’t tell you how happy I was, hearing that you were at this priory. That you’d rejected the marriage to the Lowlander. I knew then that you truly loved me. I rode here on the wing of an eagle to say this . . . I love you, Emily.”

Her fingers moved up his chest. “I love you, James.”

“Then you’ll marry me.”

As she kissed him, the priory on Loch Eil lost yet another nun.

They swore that you were well-nigh dead . . .

In exchange for the safe return of Giles and Ninian, the healing stone had to be delivered by Kenna and her father the next day.

Maxwell’s demands were clear. The exchange was to take place at midday at the market cross of a small village a half-day’s ride to the southeast of Benmore. No armed company of Macpherson warriors inside the village. If more than three accompanied Kenna, the twins would be killed.

The messenger carrying the letter was a poor farmer who had no idea of the severity of what was at stake.

Alexander exploded on hearing the demands. He wasn’t about to endanger Kenna’s life by letting her go anywhere near Maxwell. The man was a snake, as ruthless as he was deadly.

Kenna had other ideas. She was going. There was no question of it. And she worked hard to make him see that he would do the same thing if
his
brothers’ lives were in jeopardy.

A score of Macpherson and MacKay warriors accompanied them from Benmore to a field at the outskirts of the village, and that was where they set up camp. They would wait there while the exchange took place. Alexander wanted Maxwell to know that, while they were not breaking the terms of the exchange, the Macphersons were not to be trifled with.

She and Alexander, Magnus MacKay, and Colin rode in alone. The place was a muddy market village, consisting of three or four dozen cottages of stone and wattle and thatch, clustered around a low kirk at the bend of a wide, slow-moving river. The market square was filled with farmers and craftsmen, buying and selling. Smoke from cooking fires hung in the air beneath a lowering sky. Sheep and cattle grazed on the fields by the river, and the rugged Cairngorms stretched away to the south.

The village was like a hundred others that Kenna had seen in her life. Around the square, craftsmen and women plied their trades beneath overhangs of thatch in front of cottages. Children and dogs ran wild, and every stranger was greeted with a crowd of wee folk and barking hounds and curious looks from the villagers.

Though the village was at its farthest border, this was still Macpherson land, and the village elder ushered the laird’s son into his cottage and then left them. Time was growing short, but when Magnus declared that he and Colin would go to the market square to make the exchange, an argument ensued. They were his sons, the MacKay asserted. He would make the exchange. Kenna and Alexander would wait there together.

She wasn’t happy about it, and neither was Alexander, but it was midday. She shook her head and shrugged in resignation.

“We’ve spoken about this, and we’re at peace with it,” Kenna told her father, holding out the pouch and the stone. “I would give far more for the lives of Giles and Ninian.”

The MacKay laird held up a hand. “Nay. There’s no need. I had this made.”

He placed a piece of stone into her hand. It looked similar in size and color to what she had. Lines and figures had been etched into it to make it look genuine.

“Aye,” her father said. “It’s a fake, but how will this bastard Maxwell know the difference? I’ll give him this, and we’ll have the boys.”

Kenna glanced at Alexander. He looked as doubtful as she was feeling. “Perhaps he’s seen whatever it is that Evers has. Father, we can’t take a chance of him realizing the deception and hurting the boys.”

“I won’t let him. I don’t give a damn about what he realizes. As soon as we see the boys, I’ll cut the villain down.”

“It might not work out as you think. You should still take the one I have, just in case.”

Magnus took the fake tablet out of her hand and put it in a pouch similar to hers. “Nay, daughter. I made a promise to your mother that I would protect the stone. And my sons were kidnapped when they should have been with me. I will get them back, and I’ll not renege on my promise to Sine.”

“Father.”

He turned to Alexander and put a hand on his shoulder. “Keep her safe here. We’ll bring the lads back.”

Even as Kenna watched her father go, the claws of fear raked at her heart. She’d lost her mother when the stone could have saved her life. Now her father was walking into what had to be a trap. Her brothers had been taken for the same relic. She hugged her middle, unable to fight down the panic that was taking hold of her. What she had was no gift, but a curse.

“What my father is trying to do won’t work. If something happens to my brothers, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Last night, we had a half dozen men slip into the village, my love. I don’t know how many people he has, but when he shows his face, we’ll spring the trap. And Colin will be there. I trust him.”

She looped the pouch around her neck and paced the empty cottage. Alexander stayed near the door, his hand on his sword. She knew there were others nearby, watching the cottage. Time dragged on. The young faces of Giles and Ninian were constantly in her mind. Kenna wished she’d insisted on Alexander sending for them as soon as she arrived at Benmore. Her heart broke at the thought of how frightened the two of them must be.

When a distant cry of a woman rang in the air, Kenna rushed toward the door. Something had gone wrong. Cries of “Fire!” followed.

“Stay inside,” Alexander ordered, pulling open the door.

People were running on the muddy road in front of the cottage. She followed him outside.

“The cur is burning the village,” he said.

She looked along the row of cottages. Every thatched roof was on fire, it seemed, and black smoke was billowing thickly all over the village. As they stood there, the cottage they were in burst into flames.

“I am getting you out of here.” Alexander took her hand.

He motioned to two men who ran to them. Macpherson warriors, she realized with relief. The sound of the fire had grown to a crackling roar. People were shouting over it.

“Take her out of the village to the camp.” He turned to her. “I’m going after your father and Colin and the boys.”

Kenna wanted to go with Alexander, but he was already running in the direction of the market. One hut after the next was now engulfed in flames.

“Come on, mistress.”

The two men shielded Kenna on either side and urged her up the road. As they passed a cottage, a young girl ran out, shrieking in panic. Her dress was on fire.

Kenna broke free of the men and rushed to her, throwing her cloak over the child, pushing her down into the mud and crouching beside her. She slapped at the cloak, smothering the flames while the girl cried hysterically.

The air was so thick with smoke that it was burning Kenna’s eyes and lungs.

The girl’s eyes suddenly focused. “My sister! She’s still inside! She’s just a bairn!”

Kenna motioned to the men to go in. Without hesitating, they dove through the open doorway.

Just then, as if in a dream, two boys with hoods on their heads, their hands bound at their waist, appeared. They were just a few short steps from her. A man stood behind them, holding a knife. She didn’t need to wonder if he was Maxwell.

“The stone,” he demanded, his Lowland accent harsh. “Toss it to me and you can have the boys. If you hesitate for even a moment, they die.”

She pushed slowly to her feet. “First, I need to see their faces.”

The man raised his knife to one boy’s throat and pulled off the hood of the other. Giles cried out her name when he saw her, but Maxwell cuffed him hard.

“Now, woman, or they both die.”

Kenna took the pouch from around her neck. She held it up. “Send them to me.”

“Throw it to me.”

They both moved at the same time. The pouch with the stone flew through the air just as the two boys sprawled at Kenna’s feet.

When she looked up, Maxwell had disappeared into the smoke. Holding Giles close to her, Kenna pulled the hood off his twin brother.

But it was not Ninian.

She stared as the shock of recognition struck her hard.

It was Jock.

Alexander was not about to lose Maxwell.

There was no time to gather his men, and Colin and Magnus could fend for themselves.

The two Macpherson men had come out of the cottage as the roof collapsed, one carrying a baby under his arm, and both hacking from the smoke. Turning Kenna and the boys over to them, he leaped onto his horse.

Breaking out of the smoke and chaos of the village, he galloped east along the river road. He hadn’t gone far when he realized Kenna was right behind him.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “Go back!”

“Nay. Save your breath. There they go.”

Alexander looked ahead and saw two riders on a rise. The boy was draped across the neck of one of the steeds. They were following the river road, which made a great sweeping arc around a woody glen just ahead.

He didn’t have time to fight with her. He knew he wouldn’t win, in any event.

“This could be a trap, Kenna. Stay behind me and go back for help if you see more men join them.”

If she heard anything that he said, she didn’t acknowledge it.

Maxwell had enough of a head start that their only chance was cutting them off. Spurring his horse off the road and into the glen, Alexander rode hard through the woods. Branches tore at him. He heard Kenna’s horse crashing along behind him. Her safety was the most important thing in the world to him. But he knew regardless of what he did, she wouldn’t stop chasing these blackguards.

It wasn’t about the stone. She had decided already to part with it. It was Ninian. She would never give up until she had him back.

His steed vaulted over a fallen tree, and he heard her horse land safely. She was as good a rider as anyone, and she was fearless in the face of danger. He’d seen that already.

And that did nothing to ease his worries. She would take any risk.

Moments later, they broke out of the glen and into open meadow. Not an arrow shot away, Maxwell and his man turned in their saddles and saw them.

Encumbered by the boy, they were quickly losing ground.

Seeing the Highlander hot on their heels, Maxwell motioned to his man to move away from the river and up toward higher ground, where craggy boulders jutted up from brush and patches of scrub pine. He could see a long ridge ahead. If they were going to shake their pursuers, they stood the best chance of doing it there.

Snatching that fishing lad from the hills by the western sea had worked out better than he’d expected. Maxwell had planned to use him in place of one of the twins from the first moment he laid eyes on them at the hunting lodge.

The MacKay heir would serve many a purpose once they joined Sir Ralph Evers—who should be waiting not a league from here. Those Highland fools would surely pay handsomely for the lad, but getting clear looked to be the challenge now. He glanced back at the Highlander and the woman. They were steadily gaining on them.

Returning with the stone was his mission. To hell with the boy.

“If they catch us,” Maxwell shouted to his man, “you cut the brat and drop him near the ledge. That should give us time.”

Standing there with the boys in the village, he’d seen the look on the MacKay woman’s face. Never mind the stone—she’d have given her life to get them back.

Cresting a rise, Maxwell was stunned to see Alexander Macpherson riding up the sheer face of the ridge. Drawing his sword, he quickly rode behind a large boulder where the Highlander would reach the top.

As Macpherson galloped past, Maxwell swung the sword, but the Highlander was too quick. In a flash, he had his own sword up, catching the full weight of the blow.

The Highlander’s sword was shattered, and the man was thrown from his horse. But it took Maxwell a length of the heartbeat before he felt the searing pain. He looked down. The point of Macpherson’s blade was lodged in his chest.

Bellowing in fury, he rode to where his man waited with the lad.

Macpherson was getting back on his horse when his wife appeared.

“Cut him. Leave him.”

Maxwell’s man didn’t hesitate for an instant, driving a dagger deep into the boy’s back and dumping him at the edge of the cliff.

Spurring their steeds, the two galloped off.

A forest lay beyond the next hill. Beyond it, Evers waited. Bending over his mount’s neck, Maxwell pressed his hand to the wound. The blood flowed freely from around the jagged steel. He couldn’t stop the bleeding, and he could taste his own blood. His breaths were coming harder, and his vision was becoming distorted as he struggled to stay on his horse.

“We’ve lost them,” his man said.

Reining in, Maxwell slid off his horse and hit the ground. He blinked, looking up at the patches of the sky above.

The hooves of a horse circled around him. The rider dismounted. Maxwell looked up at the blurred face of his man.

“In the pouch . . . at my belt . . . the healing stone. Take it. It’s magic. Use it on me.”

The man reached down and took the pouch. Maxwell closed his eyes. A miracle. Magic. The object of his quest would make him whole again.

The feel of the blade slicing across his throat caused the Lowlander to open his eyes, but the light was now blinding. And as he drowned in his own blood, Maxwell’s last thought was that no miracle would be coming.

Alexander reached the boy before Kenna did. They’d stabbed Ninian for nothing.

Blood already soaked the boy’s clothes. He pulled off the lad’s hood, and blue eyes so much like Kenna’s stared back at him.

She was beside them in an instant.

“You came for me,” he said weakly. “I told Giles not to worry. I told him you’d find me.”

“Of course, my love.” She gathered her brother against her. She looked at the wound. How much blood the lad had already lost!

“It hurts, Kenna,” Ninian whispered. “Can you make it better?”

She glanced up at Alexander in despair, her eyes burning with tears.

Sir Ralph Evers stared at the renegade soldier. So Maxwell was dead. But this man had been able to keep the tablet and deliver it.

“When a commander loses a trusted fighter,” he said, “it is important to have a good man to replace him.”

“Aye,” Maxwell’s man said. “That’s what I figured. And I’ll do whatever the job calls for.”