The Price of Freedom (20 page)

“My laird is aware of a trap. He sends ye greetings and begs ye to be patient. Ye need not remain here if ye do not wish to.”

Not wish to? Of course she wanted to leave. “He will rescue me?”

“If ye will it, my lady. Sir Bryan will not force ye to go. I'm to instruct ye very plainly—ye are free to do as ye choose. And more importantly—I'm to repeat his exact words—‘I will make no demands upon you.' Do ye understand his message?”

She nodded. He would risk his life to rescue her but would keep his vow of a chaste marriage. Her decision could be made freely, without fear of consequences.

“Ye must let him know yer desire and he will abide by it.”

She was free again to choose. Bryan or Rodney. Scotland or England. She had made this choice once—had anything changed? Rodney, whose presence darkened a room. Bryan, the loyal and honorable knight who would come for her, risk his life for her, if she asked it of him. Would risk his life for a woman who was less than a wife.

“My lady?”

“I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“I haven't much time. Do ye wish to go, or not?”

The choice was easy. “I will return to my husband.”

The man didn't smile. “Then I am instructed to take from ye some token, or some special word, to assure my laird of yer decision.”

How could Bryan believe she would want to stay here? He obviously didn't trust her and the knowledge pinched. “Won't your word be good enough?”

“No, nor even a note that might be a forgery to trick him. Sir Bryan won't risk the lives of his men to rescue ye unless he is sure of yer desire to return.”

She frowned as a painful insight became clear. “Does he think I conspired with Sir Rodney to lure him into such a trap?”

The man didn't flinch or mince his words. “We're at war, m'lady. 'Tis possible.”

Kathryn quelled her righteous anger, putting herself in Bryan's place. They had a marriage in name only and a fragile relationship at best. And yet he was nearby, ready to take her back to Homelea.

“But Bryan doesn't really believe it or he wouldn't come for me.” The man's face betrayed him. “But you aren't so sure, are you?”

“Let me say it plain, Lady Kathryn. The man is my kin on his mother's side. If ye betray him, the hounds of the devil himself won't keep me from murderin' ye.”

Kathryn felt the blood drain from her face.

He gentled his voice. “Now do ye wish to go, give me yer token.”

What word or token could she send that he would recognize? Trembling, she reached into the
ciorbholg
at her waist. Would he recognize the combs from her hair? What could she send to convince them—to convince Bryan—that she truly wanted rescue, that she hadn't lured him here?

She dug through the remaining contents of the small bag and unwrapped the protective cloth around a forgotten parcel to find tiny dried flowers, the nosegay of heartsease Bryan had given her as a peace offering.

Smiling in triumph she said, “Take this. Remind my husband of the day he gave it to me and the words we spoke. Tell him . . . tell him his coming here is proof that Adam and I are right. God does care.”

The man grinned, a dazzling, boyish grin. “I'll tell him. Is there anything else he should know?”

Knowing that Bryan was undoubtedly worried that Rodney would behave badly, she said, “Please tell him I am well and have not suffered. That Lord Rodney is not in residence.”

He seemed to ponder this information, and Kathryn feared he wouldn't take her token to Bryan after all. Then a new thought struck her. “How will the rescue come about? Where and when?”

“Soon. Don't worry yerself, lass. Ye must trust Bryan. He said to keep yer wits about ye and don't hesitate when the moment arrives.” He made the sign of the cross. “God be with ye, lady.”

She clasped his arm. “Thank you.”

When Thomas was gone and her door closed once more, Kathryn knelt on the floor beside her bed to pray. “Please, God. Guide me in the days to come. Let me put my trust in you, for the sake of those I love. And help me guide Bryan to you.”

KATHRYN SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT in constant anticipation of imminent rescue. But dawn arrived and she left her rumpled bed to wash the sleep from her eyes. As she splashed water on her face from the bowl on the table she wondered, would Bryan come today? When and how would he gain entrance to the keep?

Peggy brought porridge, and Kathryn pushed her spoon around the wooden bowl after eating a few spoonfuls. She'd no sooner set it aside than her door burst open to reveal Rodney Carleton. A very angry Rodney Carleton, from the looks of him. And from the damp and muddy condition of his clothes, he had just arrived.

She jumped up and backed away from him so quickly she knocked over the bench she'd been sitting on. “Rodney.” She barely squeezed the name past the tightness in her throat at the sight of the last person she wanted to see this morning.

He gave her no time to say more. “Get ready to leave; we ride as soon as I change into dry clothing.”

Leave? Today? How would Bryan find her? She couldn't leave. “I will need some time—”

“Don't dawdle, Kathryn. Your husband has not come for you; we shall go to him.”

Retreating further, she bumped against the bed. She forced herself to a calmness she certainly didn't feel. “To him?”

“You'll be happy to hear we are going to Homelea.”

Kathryn couldn't suppress the gasp of surprise that rose to her lips.

With a gleam in his eye he said, “I have some unfinished business to attend to there.”

Isobel.
Kathryn grabbed the bedpost for support. “What business?”

“An interesting rumor. It seems your husband may be using Homelea's crossing to ship weapons to Bruce.”

“Weapons?” So that was Bryan and Adam's secret. Kathryn sat down on the edge of the bed, her knees weak with the news that Rodney did not know about Isobel after all. “Why do you need to take me along to capture weapons?”

“You may prove valuable as a bargaining tool. He didn't come here, so I will truss you up and dangle you right under his nose.”

“What makes you think he'd trade these weapons for a woman he was forced to marry?”

“I'm counting on his noble pride—he won't allow harm to come to his own wife, no matter how he came to marry her. But you needn't fear being forced into his arms, Kathryn. I'm not giving you up—I'll slit his throat and we'll be done with him once and for all.”

“You are mad.” She didn't doubt that Rodney would kill Bryan if given the chance. But she clung to the hope that God would not allow this evil man to prevail.

Rodney grabbed her cloak from its peg and tossed it to her. “Enough talk. We must leave immediately before they have more of a head start.”

“Who has a head start?” What was he talking about? Had Bryan left her instead of mounting a rescue? Had someone kidnapped Isobel as well?

“Never mind, just get moving.”

Simon came to the doorway and Rodney spoke to him. “Get her mounted and ready to ride.” Then he strode away while Kathryn struggled not to break down in tears.

No, Bryan was nearby. He would not have abandoned her. Was he planning to take her from the castle somehow, or was he watching the road in hopes they would move her? But if so, surely he expected her captors to take her south, not north. Why hadn't she insisted on getting more information from Thomas last night? Now she had no idea if she should try and delay their departure or not.

Trust God.
Aye, hadn't she prayed last night to trust God for her deliverance? And he would use Bryan to make it happen. Comforted by the knowledge that all was in God's hands, she walked out the door toward the bailey.

Simon shoved her when she didn't walk fast enough. A heavy morning mist gave promise of rain and a wet, miserable ride.
How
fitting,
she thought as she mounted her horse and spread the cloak to cover as much of her as possible.

There was no sign of the “priest,” and when she asked about him she was told the man had left at first light. Questions she dared not ask sprang to mind, and once again she feared that by day's end both she and Isobel would be in Rodney's not-so-tender care.

As her horse moved off to follow the others, Kathryn prayed for patience. She must act resigned and not give her captors any reason to suspect that she expected rescue. Still—despite the increasing rain—she kept her head up, discreetly alert to her surroundings just as her priestly visitor had advised. She was gratified to see many of her companions pull their hoods close about them and ride with their heads down to shield themselves from the damp.

They rode across country, avoiding the road. As the morning wore on, she became more and more anxious. Where was Bryan? Why hadn't he come for her already? Something must have gone wrong. He hadn't received her token, or worse yet, didn't believe her sincerity.

He had changed his mind. Kathryn's hopes dwindled and her spirits became as dismal as the cheerless day.

The midday meal was eaten while they rode. Kathryn brushed the crumbs from her cloak as they entered a thickly wooded area where the trees grew straight and tall. To the right was a swiftly moving stream. Kathryn was reminded of a similar stream and a narrow pathway, traveled unwarily three days ago. She sat straighter in the saddle and gathered her reins.

The spot was perfect for an ambush. Did her captors sit straighter in their saddles as well, or was it her imagination? Another few minutes and the opportunity would be lost. With every step of the horse Kathryn willed Bryan to appear. So intent was she on her prayer that she nearly fell from the animal when two dozen screaming, tartan-clad madmen set upon them from all sides. Praying these were Bryan's men and not a band of border raiders, Kathryn hastily halted her horse.

Someone grabbed the bridle, frightening her until she saw the red whortleberry in his bonnet. She recognized the Mackintosh plant badge and the “priest” who'd come to her at Norham. Thomas winked and shouted, “Loch Moy!” and she repeated the war cry in joyous acknowledgment.

At her frantic search amongst the warriors, her companion jerked his head in his leader's direction. She found Black Bryan and when their eyes met, he waved his sword, urging her to move, now. Then he wheeled his horse about and joined the fray, charging straight for Rodney. Their swords engaged just as Bryan's horse stumbled, and the blades glanced off each other.

The rest of the skirmish moved closer to her, and remembering Bryan's warning not to hesitate, Kathryn spurred her horse, driving it to follow the kilted priest-turned-warrior's mount in the opposite direction Bryan had gone. Kathryn allowed herself a backward glance and saw a swirling melee of men and beasts. Clashing swords and bloodcurdling cries sang out as the Scots surrounded her jailers. Saying a prayer for the brave men who fought for her, she whirled away from the skirmish toward freedom. Toward Homelea.

BRYAN DROVE CERIN through the melee toward Rodney Carleton. Bryan's men outnumbered Rodney's by half a dozen, but the English were mounted on horseback while most of Bryan's highlanders were on foot. But the Scots had perfected the art of dragging horsemen from their mounts with the hooks on their lochabar axes. Already half the English stood on the ground fighting hand to hand.

Bryan fought today with his shorter broadsword, knowing he'd need its quickness against a swordsman like Rodney. Bryan watched as Rodney took note of the fleeing riderless horses and then charged at Bryan. The usually sure-footed Cerin stumbled just as Bryan's sword met Rodney's, and the blades slipped to the hilts before Bryan managed to disengage. Bryan maintained his seat, but just barely.

They had no time nor breath for conversation. Rodney pressed his sudden advantage and Bryan barely had time to prepare for the next thrust. Aye, Rodney was formidable with a sword in his hands. Quick and lean where Bryan had strength and stamina. Rodney would have to win quickly or else give the advantage to Bryan.

Bryan parried and thrust, forcing Rodney to remain engaged and not giving him time to rest. The force and number of Bryan's hits against Rodney's blade began to tell. But Rodney's quickness caught Bryan off-guard and Rodney drew first blood, a small cut on Bryan's upper thigh. Smiling in anticipation, Rodney dived under Bryan's next swing and might have cut again had Bryan not signaled Cerin. The warhorse barely missed Rodney's leg as it sank its teeth into the other horse's neck. Rodney's mount squealed in pain and darted backward, nearly unseating Rodney.

With some distance between them, both Rodney and Bryan took a moment to survey the fight. The Scots drove their opponents relentlessly toward the stream bank and a number of the English had begun to retreat, running in the direction their mounts had taken earlier. Rodney yelled to his men to return to the battle and several of them changed course, but most continued to desert the fight.

Bryan knew that men like Rodney's, who fought for pay, were far less loyal than those who fought for a cause. And Bryan's highlanders held true, chasing their foes into the forest.

Seeing the battle was lost, Rodney scowled and saluted with his sword. “We will meet again, Mackintosh,” he ground out before three English soldiers joined him and then rode out beside him at his order.

Bryan itched to follow, but his men were otherwise engaged for a critical minute. At last he called off his men, now ready to pursue Carleton, but by then Bryan was more intent on preserving his warriors for Stirling and meeting up with his wife once more. Carleton was right; they would meet again. And Bryan would kill him.

KATHRYN AND THOMAS HEADED NORTH as fast as possible. They didn't stop until the horses were lathered and breathing in great, labored breaths.

As they slowed the poor beasts to a walk, the man said quietly, “Ye were brave back there, lassie.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Perhaps ye'll do.”