Bedded by the Laird (Highland Warriors) (7 page)

‘They’re going to
take
Stirling
- there are hundreds,’ he was told.

‘Then there will
be thousands to meet them,’ Alasdair said, thundering back to the castle
summon
his men for battle.

Bridie had been
cleaning the Grand Room when the news came. Still smiling from her morning with
the Laird she was sweeping the rugs that had been spread as if it were her
white gown she was preparing the floor for. She carried heavy candles imagining
the room lit and that it was she dancing with the Laird, for nothing could spoil
this morn.

Except
battle.

As soon as word
came,
Mrs
Moffat gave orders. There was much to
quickly do and she sent Bridie to the basement room where she dragged up salted
meat and wine to the kitchen and then set about packing up supplies for the men
to take with them.
Supplies that would hopefully sustain them
and give them strength for the battle ahead.
Bridie was choking back
tears as she wrapped up food and carried it out to the supply carriage.

‘Where’s Mary?’
Mrs
Moffat shouted, when she was nowhere to be found.

The horses were
ready and the carriages too that would ride behind with supplies and also bring
the injured home.

‘Where’s Angus?’
The laird was already mounted, his face fierce, his mind already on the battle
ahead and Bridie was jealous when Angus appeared and a wee while later so did
Mary, for she wanted to kiss the laird farewell, but he had told her this
morning it was to be forgotten, that there must be no more.

She caught his
eye, just once, he stared at her but for a moment and then he kicked his horse
on and the warriors rode out of the castle as the women watched on, Mary
crying.

‘Why do
they have to go?’ Mary sobbed. ‘It’s not their land…’

‘Because the Scots
need to stick together,’
Mrs
Moffat said. ‘The
Glenbarach
Clan
are
riding down
south too…’

‘Aye, but the
Glenbarach
laird won’t be going in to battle…’ Bridie
flared. ‘So why does our laird have to?’

‘You watch your
tongue lassie.’
Mrs
Moffat turned. ‘Our laird is the
McClelland Clan Chief too. Would you rather a laird who sat and did nothing as
his men did his work?’

Yes, Bridie
thought, but did not say, if it meant that the laird was safe.

‘I hate the
Glenbarachs
.’ Bridie settled for instead.

Alasdair hated the
Glenbarachs
too, had been born and raised to hate
them, could hear their pipes playing in the distance as they set up camp for
the night. They had been travelling for three days, forging ahead, pushing to
get to the ford where the battle was to be held. Rapid was the English approach
too though and the reports of their numbers were increasing. The Scots were way
outnumbered, the Welsh were marching with the English too and so tonight the
men drank wine, for there was little doubt that otherwise it would be wasted,
but then
Callum
came over with news. ‘There’s a
Glenbarach
approaching.’

Alasdair stood as
solid as a rock as Hamish, the
Glenbarach
War Chief
rode up and he offered no greeting as Hamish dismounted and faced him.

‘There are
thousands approaching,’ Hamish said.

‘I heard.’
Alasdair nodded.

‘We’re to spread
the word that they’re not coming across the ford now…’ Hamish said. ‘Instead
they’re coming the quicker route across
Stirling
Bridge, which is just as Wallace wanted.’

Alasdair smiled,
for at the ford the English could ride many men abreast but
Stirling
Bridge would only allow for two, maybe three of them to ride side by side and
would create a
bottle neck
.

‘Wallace and Moray
want us to position ourselves. We’re to let enough through that we can take and
then attack.’

‘And what about
the men still coming through on the bridge?’ Alasdair looked to Hamish. ‘
Spearsmen
?’

‘Aye.’ Hamish
nodded. ‘And archers. The English have no idea what they’ll be riding into. We
know the land…’

‘Because it’s
our
land.’ Alasdair said. ‘I’ll pass it on.’

He sent
Callum
to ride to the next clan to pass on the news as
Hamish returned to his men and they drank wine and ate bread and meat and spoke
about strategies for a while.

‘Moray knows the
lowlands.’ Angus said as they spoke of the plans.

‘Aye, but Wallace
knows the Highlands like no other.’ Alasdair said. ‘They’ll not get through.’

‘Have you made up
your mind, who’ll be your bride?’ Angus asked, because there was now a chance
that there would be a wedding after all.

‘Not yet,’
Alasdair said. ‘Though I know who it won’t be,’ he nodded in the direction of
the sound of the
Glenbarach
bagpipes.

‘
Och
, and there was me thinking they were playing their
pipes!’ Angus said and bought a rare smile to Alasdair’s lips, for Peter had a
sister, Donalda - a rotund, angry woman who had a voice and a laugh that was
not pleasing to the ears. ‘They must have brought Lady Donalda with them.’

Alasdair stretched
out under his oilskin and thought about the battle that would be waiting for
them when they arrived tomorrow. There would be no Bridie bringing him breakfast
in the morn and on this, perhaps his last night on earth, he closed his eyes
and thought of her in his arms that morning, sinking into his own pleasure as
he recalled their kiss, thought of her wanton in his arms, but then his eyes
snapped open as he remembered
Dougal
raising a stick
to the dog, for he had not spoken to
Mrs
Moffat.

Alasdair had never
been nervous going into battle, had always said he would die a happy man if he
died defending the land he so loved – but there was all the more reason
to defeat the English tomorrow.

He had to stop the
marriage.

For Bridie’s sake,
he had to make it home.

The English knew
full well that the Scots were outnumbered and were expecting a rabble they
could quickly crush.

Instead there was
order. 

The rival clans
were united - poised and waiting as the vanguard approached the bottleneck of
the bridge. And they watched them thunder over.

Watched silent and
smiling and not afraid to die, for the English would be beaten today.

Every Scot knew
it.

‘If I don’t make
it back.’ Alasdair turned to his brother. ‘Bridie’s not to marry
Dougal
.’

‘Aye.’ Angus said
and did not ask for more details, for idle words were not said before you went
into battle and he shook his brothers hand and gave him his word as the order
went into attack and attack they did.

The
spearsmen
and archers went first, taking out what men they
could and then they
focussed
on the bridge as the men
charged ahead, first on horseback armed with spears and then they fought with
dirks and swords.

It was not just
his land Alasdair fought for, but to make it back for Bridie. Side by side with
the
Glenbarach’s
and other clans they must block the
advance of the English, would see them retreat. It was filthy and bloody and
the waters ran red for a while, but this was war and he fought it, savage like
never before. Every English man was the one who might take torches to his
village, while Bridie and Gracie lay sleeping in their beds in
Dougal’s
home instead of safe at his castle. Alasdair
blocked every sword with his shield, for without him or Angus to stop the
marriage, Bridie would be in that brute’s bed and he
would
make it home
for her.

He would, Alasdair
realised
, for there was a roar of elation as the
English finally retreated, some choosing to take off their
armour
and swim from the Scots in fear.

The victory was a
costly one though and the elation faded as Alasdair picked through the bodies
on the battlefield and the riverside and claimed the McClelland dead and
injured. Though weary they dug their fellow warriors’ graves and loaded the
injured into the carriage, ready to head for home and then by the riverside
Alasdair saw movement.

‘It’s a
Glenbarach
….’ Duncan growled, seeing the moss and brown
plaid, but the
Glenbarachs
had already left.

‘He’s a
Scot.
’ Alasdair said. ‘And we need every last man, go and
fetch him – he’ll travel with us.’

And so a
Glenbarach
was loaded on to the McClelland carriage as the
victorious men began the long, tiring journey home, though it was not till a
few nights later that Bridie was woken from her sleep.

‘The men are
returning.’
Mrs
Moffat said. ‘Go and prepare the
laird’s room. Mary, go and prepare for Angus and then you’re to join me in the
kitchen.’

The laird was
coming home!

Bridie flew up the
castle steps lit candles and lanterns and then she started on the fire,
determined to have the place warm and ready. She put on water over the fire and
pulled back the fur to ready his bed and as she did there was a stir of memory
as she remembered laying here in this bed, though not from the time she had
spent here with Gracie.

Bridie was
terrified to remember that time, did everything she could not to, but as she
heard the sound hooves approaching the castle, she remembered for the first
time opening her eyes and the laird imploring her to stay with him.

Remembered the
laird bringing her home.

Bridie screwed her
eyes closed, for she could not stand to think of it, but yes, she had wanted
death, had been sure it had arrived but then she had opened her eyes to find it
was Laird Alasdair’s arms she was in, and the fear had escaped then, just safe
in his arms as he carried her home.

‘Oh, Laird.’ She
wanted safe in his arms now, wanted to be with the laird.

Wanted.

‘Bridie!’ She
could hear Mary shouting for her and with the laird’s room ready she headed
down to the kitchen. Even though it was the middle of the night there was the
aroma of fresh bread baking and
Mrs
Moffat was adding
herbs to a vast pot of stew and there were birds on the spit for the men would
be starving.

 As the men
approached a messenger came ahead and it was then they learned there was an
injured
Glenbarach
returning with them.

‘Trust the
Glenbarachs
to leave a man behind.’
Mrs
Moffat huffed.

‘Aye, well he’ll
not be eating with us,
The
laird says he’s to be bought
into here and fed and his injuries dealt with and then in the morn
Callum
will ride him home.’

It was as if the
devil himself had been bought into the castle - Mary ran off and
Mrs
Moffat was anxious. Only Bridie wasn’t scared.
Remembering how Morag had helped Gracie, she washed the man and did her best
with his wounds though he barely stirred. He was a huge man, and elderly and
was dressed in the moss and brown plaid of the
Glenbarach’s
.

‘How could they
leave a man behind?’ Bridie asked.

‘It can happen.’

It was the laird’s
deep voice that answered and she turned and looked. There was a huge gash on
his neck and he stood, staring down at what once had been the enemy. ‘Hamish,
their War Chief was badly knocked out, he’d never have left him otherwise. The
other men would have thought he was in with the injured, or buried…’

The man was
stirring, looking up to the Laird his face scowled, his teeth bared.

‘You’ll be back
with your men tomorrow.’ The Laird said. ‘For now you’ll be looked after here.’
He turned to Bridie. ‘Give the man a drink.’

She filled a
goblet with ale and approached the
Glenbarach
and at
first he shrunk back as if afraid.

‘He looks like
he’s seen a ghost.’ Mary said from the far end of the kitchen, brave because it
wasn’t she who had to approach him.

‘
It’s
just ale.’ Bridie said as she offered it to him,
nervous now, because his eyes never left her face and she let out a squeal of
terror when he suddenly lifted her hand and kissed it.

‘Laird!’ Bridie
called out, taking her hand back and spilling the ale.

‘Enough!’ Alasdair
roared at the man and then called for
Callum
. ‘We’ll
take him out to the keep where he’s to be fed and watered and then you’re to
take him to
Glenbarach
at first light.’

He and
Callum
went to lift the injured man and the Laird glanced
over to Bridie and for the first time since his return from battle he properly
saw her. She was in her kirtle, her hair wild and to the laird she had never
looked more beautiful. There was a scald to her cheeks as he stared and there
was fierce want in his groin.