Amanda Scott (27 page)

“Adela,” Sorcha shouted as she ran to the fallen Hugo. “Help me!”

“Help yourself,” Adela cried. “This is all your fault, Sorcha. If Hugo dies, you will be responsible. And wearing those dreadful clothes, too! Come, sir,” she added, catching Waldron’s arm. “I’ll go with you. Together, we can still achieve your most vital goal, but we must hurry or they’ll be upon us. Many of your men are already laying down their weapons.”

He looked north, saw the army spilling down the slope, and said calmly, “Go ahead of me, lass. You know where the horses are. I’ll be behind you with my sword. We’ll finish this another time,” he shouted to the fallen Hugo as he followed her.

Sorcha rose to run after Adela, but a strong hand clamped onto her right ankle and jerked her back.

“We can’t let her go with him,” she cried, trying to pull her leg free of Hugo’s grip. “She does not know what she is doing!”

“You cannot stop either of them, lass,” he said. “He still has his sword, and he would not hesitate to use it.”

“Then you go! Pick up your sword and run after him!” But even as she said the words, she saw the heavy bruise
forming on his temple and wished she could take them back.

He looked ruefully at her as he released her and sat up with a grimace, putting a hand to the swiftly swelling lump on his head.

Silence fell around them with surprising abruptness.

Adela and Waldron had vanished into the woods, and on the battlefield the men had stopped fighting. Looking north, Sorcha saw the army of horsemen ride into the clearing under a familiar golden banner with a little-black-ship device.

“Mercy, that is his grace’s banner!”

“Aye, and Hector’s beside it,” Hugo said. “Although he and the High Admiral promised men to follow me if I needed them, I did not expect so many.”

“I wish they had come sooner,” she said.

“You should be happy they came at all,” he said, and a note in his voice reminded her that he might still believe he had cause to be displeased with her.

The thought that he might be angry with her after all that had happened brought a tightness to her throat that warned her she might cry any minute. She was certain the feeling was only a natural reaction to exhaustion and the many emotions that had assailed her over the past hours, but she did not want Hugo to see her cry.

She said gruffly, “I am glad I could be here, sir, and even gladder that you were. If you are going to lop my head off for that, go ahead.”

“Look at me,” he said.

Reluctantly, she did so, and saw a softer expression on his face than she had ever seen there before.

“I’m glad we were here, too,” he said, getting to his feet with unusual awkwardness. “What Michael will say about it all, I don’t want to imagine, but I’d not have wanted the lady Isobel to have to birth her child alone. And I’m thinking that’s exactly what would have happened had you not been here.”

“You thought he was going to kill them both, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what he intended,” he said. “He had his sword in his hand and was walking toward the tent with a look of purpose on his face. He may only have wanted to see what was keeping me, or mayhap to kill me before I could lay hand to my sword. But who is to say now what he would have done? If I had to guess, I’d say he would not have killed the bairn. He would think it the best hostage he could hold, and if Adela is now in league with him—”

“How dare you! She is not! She
could
not!” Sorcha said, automatically raising her hand. When he only looked at her and made no attempt to stop her, she lowered it again. She could not strike him. She was too afraid he might be right.

She bit her lip hard to stem the tears that welled into her eyes, but one trickled down her cheek. When she brushed it angrily away and turned back toward the tent, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Come here,” he said gently, and when she shook her head, he cupped her other shoulder and pulled her closer. “Think of what we did today,” he said in that same gentle, un-Hugo-like voice. “As men died here, a new one was born, lassie. Think of your nephew, fighting his way
into this world. With battle raging around him, he squalled in its face.”

She smiled at the image he painted, but her tears flowed freely nonetheless, and when he pulled her close she did not resist, leaning into his strength and letting the flood come, sobbing away the hours of tension. For just one moment, she would put Adela out of her head, let Hugo hold her, and try to imagine a world of peace where two people might meet properly, get to know each other in a normal fashion, and love each other in a more acceptable way. Then one of them would not have to marry a mad woman and restore her to respectability.

When she had no more tears to cry, she straightened reluctantly, then began at once to feel guilty about weeping all over him.

“If you ever tell anyone I did that,” she growled, staring at his chest, “I’ll poison your claret and dance on your grave.”

“I’ll not tell a soul,” he promised.

She heard laughter in his voice, and when she looked up and saw that his eyes were twinkling, she wished she had not looked. Although the emotional storm had passed, her emotions did not seem to know it.

“It is
not
funny,” she said. “And Adela did
not
run away with that villain. I warrant she was afraid, as you were, that he was going to kill the bairn.”

“Perhaps,” he said. Then in a more positive tone of voice, he added, “Do you know what they mean to call him?”

“Faith, sir, even if I did, I’d not say the name aloud until he has been properly baptized! Even for that, his father will write the name for the priest to say.”

“Sakes, lass, I thought your father was the only superstitious Macleod.”

“That’s not superstition; it’s Celtic tradition,” she said. “A most important one, too, that goes back to a time long before Christianity came to the Isles. The naming ceremony is what legitimizes a child and guarantees its inheritance. We equate its name with its soul. We protect the soul in the meantime, though, so that if the worst happens the babe can still lie in hallowed ground. But we’ve left Isobel alone all this time without so much as a basin of water to cleanse the poor laddie!”

“You attend to her, and I’ll find someone to fetch the water,” he said.

She watched him go to be sure he was steady on his feet. Reassured by his grin and the jaunty way he slipped the sword back into its scabbard, she hurried into the tent to find Isobel contentedly nursing her son.

Isobel looked up from the contented baby and smiled. “Is he not perfect?”

“Aye, he is,” Sorcha agreed. “But we must sanctify him before we leave this tent. Hugo is finding someone to fetch water. The battle is over,” she added, “but Waldron fled with Adela.”

Isobel frowned. “How did he get away from Hugo?”

“Adela distracted him, and Waldron tried to kill him. I would have run after them, but Hugo stopped me.”

“I should hope so!” Isobel exclaimed. “I wonder how Waldron forced Adela to go with him. She must have seen that the battle was nearly over.”

“I don’t know,” Sorcha said. “I think she heard the baby cry and saw Waldron with his sword out. She must have feared for your life and the baby’s.”

“If that is so, she ought to have left matters to Hugo,” Isobel said. “I learned long ago to trust both him and Michael whenever they have a weapon in hand.”

“Aye, perhaps, but Waldron knocked Hugo down.”

“You said Adela distracted him.”

“Not intentionally, and he should not have taken his eyes off Waldron,” Sorcha said. “He will surely say that much himself.”

“Aye, and so will Michael,” Isobel said with a sigh. “Are you sure Hugo went to fetch water? I’m all sticky and so is my son.”

Sorcha went to look and met Hugo at the entrance.

“They’ve brought our horses and supplies from where we left them on the ridge,” he said, handing her a bundle of clothing. “So, you can put on a skirt again. I brought blankets and some clothing for you, too, my lady,” he said to Isobel.

“Sakes, Hugo, do you carry a store of women’s clothing with you?”

“Nay,” he said with a chuckle. “But I did collect a couple of long shirts that will keep you decent along the way, since you’ll be in a litter with the bairn, and otherwise modestly covered.”

“You can have my skirt and bodice, Isobel,” Sorcha said. “I shan’t need them, for I see no reason to change just to ride from here to Roslin.” She looked at Hugo and added airily, “It is not so far now, is it?”

“About ten miles,” he said. “And it would serve you right if I let you wear those things. Recall that you will be meeting my aunt when we arrive, and consider whether you want to have to explain your idea of suitable dress to her.”

“I cannot see how it concerns her,” Sorcha said.

As if she had not spoken, he added gently, “Recall, too, that your father and the others will arrive on Monday, and that when the countess sees them, she will likely regale them all with a description of your attire, even if she approves of it.”

Isobel said diplomatically, “A skirt or bodice that fits you will be too tight on me, Sorcha. I’m larger than usual, you know. Is that water you have there, Hugo? I hope there is enough for us to tidy ourselves, but Sorcha wants to sanctify my son first. Since you served as our midwife, you are the most proper person to do it.”

“ ’Twould be a great honor,” he said. “What must I do?”

“First we’ll clean him up,” Sorcha said, pleased to see that Hugo had brought cloths for the purpose. “Then you sprinkle water on his forehead in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. We could have used spittle rather than fresh water. According to the common folk, it has more magical qualities than plain water and is guaranteed to protect newborn babies from mischievous fairies and evil creatures.”

“We’ll use water,” he said, smiling at Isobel.

Sorcha cleaned the baby as thoroughly as she could under the circumstances, and he yelled lustily throughout the process. Although she was sure Hugo would have preferred to go to his men, he showed no sign of impatience as he watched her tend the bairn. Isobel, too, watched with a tender smile.

But at last the baby was tidy enough to suit them all, and she wrapped him in a blanket that Hugo had managed
to find. Then, coaching him through the ritual of birth sanctification, she handed the bairn back to Isobel.

“I’ll leave you now,” Hugo said. “My lads and the others are seeing to the dead and injured, so they’ll be a while yet. But as soon as you are ready, I mean for us to be on our way. The others can catch up with us easily enough.”

Isobel said, “Have you someone you can send to meet his grace’s cavalcade, Hugo? Michael will want to know of his son’s arrival as soon as possible.”

“Aye, sure,” Hugo said. “I sent two men straightaway with the message.”

“What if Waldron is lying in wait for us somewhere betwixt here and Roslin?” Sorcha asked. “Should we not wait until everyone is ready to go?”

“Waldron’s forces are sadly depleted,” Hugo said. “If he sent for men from Edgelaw, I’m sure our lads from Roslin have intercepted them. We’ll take thirty men with us, which will be enough. Now, help your sister, lass, and don’t forget to change your clothes. I don’t want to see those leggings or that shirt ever again.”

She did not reply, and when he had gone, Isobel said, “He is right, Sorcha. I don’t know why you challenge him so, or why he allows it. I’d not have expected Hugo to suffer such impertinence lightly.”

“He wields no authority over me,” Sorcha said.

Isobel chuckled. “That would not weigh with him in the least, as I should think you must have learned before traveling a mile in his company.”

Sorcha lifted her chin in response, but she would change her clothes, because she knew as well as Isobel apparently did that Hugo would not hesitate to change
them for her if she continued to defy him. The thought made her smile.

They were ready when he returned for them, and he nodded approvingly when he saw Sorcha in her borrowed skirt and bodice. By then she had remembered that she had left her shift and the bodice under a rock, and hoped he would not recall that, but when he had seen Isobel and the bairn settled in the makeshift litter his men had created for them, he said casually that Sorcha was to ride with him.

“I’d rather ride beside Isobel,” she said.

“She will sleep now, and the bairn likewise, so you’d only be bored,” he said. “Besides, I want to talk with you.”

“What if I don’t want to talk to you?”

He gave her a look, and she decided silence would serve better than speech.

The men had prepared food they could all eat as they rode, and Sorcha realized she was hungry. She saw that Isobel had accepted a manchet loaf, some cheese, and an apple, and that she ate at least some of it before she fell asleep.

Her litter consisted of a blanket slung between two poles. One end of it was harnessed to one of the horses, and a man led the horse while two other men on foot carried the back of the litter, trading places every hour or so with two of the riders. In this way, they were able to travel almost as fast as they would have had Isobel been able to ride, and she and the baby were able to rest.

Reassured that her sister was as comfortable as they could make her, Sorcha found that she was looking forward to another conversation with Hugo.

To take the wind out of his sails, she spoke first, saying, “If you mean to scold me for leaving our camp as I did, I wish you would get it over with.”

“I warrant you do,” he replied equably. He said nothing further, and that not having been the reply she had wanted to hear, she scoured her imagination for something to say that might produce a more satisfactory one.

The best she could come up with was “Well, then?”

He gazed expressionlessly into the distance.

Looking behind them, she saw that his men had fallen back and guessed that he had told them to do so, doubtless expecting her to be fractious. But his silence was beginning to annoy her. If the man had something to say, he ought to say it and be done. A less welcome thought struck her. Mayhap she had annoyed him so much that he no longer cared enough about what she did to scold her for it.