Fraser 02 - Highland Quest (4 page)

“Thank you.” Bryce secured the weapon on his back. “I am grateful for your help,” he said as the two men grasped forearms and exchanged a hardy shake.

“Do you have everything you need?” Donald asked.

“Aye. Fallon packed me a satchel of food, I have a wineskin of ale that I can later fill with water, and this sound horse.” He tied the supplies and a length of plaid to the back of the saddle and prepared to mount. “Please say goodbye to Fallon for me and thank her for the wonderful care.”

“Women can be a peculiar lot. They often have trouble saying farewell, so mayhap it is better you depart this way.”

“Do I mean so little that you would leave a missive with my uncle rather than say goodbye in person?” Fallon sauntered toward him with her head held high. Spying her herb basket on a stump beside the garden, she quickly retrieved it, and reached inside. “Take this with you as well.” She handed him the same dirk she’d used to cauterize his wound. “It saved your life once. Mayhap it will prove to be lucky in future.”

Bryce glanced at the fire-blackened blade. “I’m sure it will be.” He tucked her knife in his boot.

“Do you have far to go?” She took a step closer and gazed up at him.

“A day’s hard ride, two at best, but I dare not tell you any more. The less you know the safer you will be.”

“A wise decision, lad.” Donald thumped Bryce on the back. “Safe journey and take care. I’ll leave the two of you to say farewell.” With a curt nod, he disappeared into the croft.

“He’s a good man.” Bryce closed the distance between them. “Most would have turned me over to the authorities and collected the price on my head.”

“Aye, he is a wonderful man, and I love him dearly. He has been like a father to me.”

“Where are your parents, Fallon?” he asked softly.

She blew out a trembling breath. Funny how in all the times they’d talked, she’d never shared that tidbit of information. “My mother died in childbirth when I was ten, and my father was killed at the battle of Falkirk.”

His eyes shadowed. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat at the thought of her beloved parents and continued. “Though she knew it was dangerous for her to have more children, my mother was willing to risk all to give my da a son. She and the babe both died that night.” She closed her eyes briefly at the image of the blood-soaked sheets, the blood covering her arms to her elbows, the cord wrapped tightly around the infant’s neck.

“My da was away that night. You see, he was a strong supporter of William Wallace. They were engaged in a battle and he couldn’t be there. I tried to save my mam and brother, but I failed. Both my parents died doing what they believed was their destiny.”

Bryce tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t know how to fail, Fallon. God’s plan is mysterious to all of us. You were but a wee bairn with adult responsibilities.”

She shook her head. “Nay. You are a kind man, Bryce Fraser, but I saw the blood, in a vision, and I did naught to warm my mother.”

He caught her face between his firm hands, forcing her to meet his sympathetic gaze. “Do you really believe you could have changed what had happened?”

“Mayhap.” She lowered her gaze. She couldn’t stand the pity and understanding in his eyes.

“Nay. But you are one remarkable woman, Fallon. I’ll miss that.”

She couldn’t respond to the kindness and warmth in his voice. How could she risk her heart?

“I dinna think you wanted to bid me farewell, or I’d have come looking for you.” He brushed her ear with a kiss.

The simple gesture sent a shiver of desire racing to her very core. She inhaled slowly and waited for her pulse to stop pounding before she spoke. “I made that mistake once and dinna intend to do it again. While I wish you would stay and allow your wounds to heal fully, I understand how important duty and honor are to you.”

“About what almost happened between us in the croft. I dinna mean to take advantage of the situation. Nor did I wish to lead you astray. I—”

She placed her fingers against his lips. “Please. I was as much to blame and would really like to forget it ever happened.”

“Consider it forgotten.” Bryce clutched her hand and kissed her fingertips, but she pulled out of his grasp and backed away.

She unfastened a pendant from around her neck and placed it in his palm. “My mother gave this to me when I was only a sprout. She bid me wear it always and promised it would protect me.”

Bryce studied the silver star-shaped talisman suspended on a length of leather. A brilliant emerald sat in the center. She didn’t dare voice her belief that the precious gem held protective powers. Though Bryce accepted much about her, she feared that would be too much for him to believe.

“I canna take this. It means too much to you.” Bryce tried to give it back, but she closed his fist around the gift.

“You will take it and keep it with you. Promise me you’ll wear it.” She peered up at him through tearful eyes and smiled. “Now be off.” She turned to walk away, but he grasped her elbow and drew her into an embrace.

“Not without a goodbye kiss.” He lowered his head and their lips were about to touch when he hesitated.

Fallon closed her eyes and waited, but when the kiss did not come she looked at him in disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

“Your uncle is staring out the window, watching my every move,” he whispered. “He has been so kind, I dinna want to show him any disrespect by making improper advances.”

Fallon glanced over her shoulder, and spotted Donald as he disappeared behind the curtain.

Once again Fate had stepped in when they were about to share an intimate moment. Mayhap it was sign. Standing on tiptoe, she kissed him soundly, then moved away. “Take that with you, Bryce, and be careful. She turned and scurried into the croft.

“No! Dinna go. Please come back,” Fallon called out to the brown-haired man, but he paid her no mind.

Wrapped in a shroud, he walked with stealth away from her. According to Scottish lore, this was a very bad omen to be sure.

Her breath caught and her chest tightened when a woman with fiery red hair came into view and blocked his path.

Desperate to keep them apart, Fallon tried to hurry forward, but she couldn’t will her legs to move. She called out again, but this time she had no voice.

It was too late to intervene.

The red-haired beauty flashed the man a smile and beckoned him to her side with a wave of her hand.

The man quickened his pace, closing the distance between them. He pulled the woman into his arms and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

Fallon gasped. With her hand clutched to her throat, she watched in horror as the woman’s once comely features transformed into those of a wrinkled old hag.

The man raised his head and glanced over his shoulder, revealing his identity as the woman prepared to claim his soul.

“Bryce. No!”

Fallon’s head snapped back and her eyes flew open. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her stomach twisted with fear, and her chest constricted. She couldn’t breathe. While she was aware the events in her vision were symbolic and not real, they still unnerved her greatly.

The Scots were deep-rooted in their mythical heritage and belief in the power of magic, both good and evil, especially the Highlanders. Unwelcome visits from the
taibhs
, spirits who resembled those about to die, haunted her dreams.

While she should be accustomed to the premonitions by now, they never failed to catch her off guard, leaving her physically and emotionally drained. Especially when they showed the possible demise of someone she cared about.

Fallon shuddered at the thought of her most recent vision. She had to warn Bryce, to do something to intervene or he’d die at the hands of his enemy.

“Where is he?”

The gruff male voice caused the hairs on the back of Fallon’s neck to bristle. She spun around, her eyes locking with the hostile gaze of a robust warrior dressed in a heavy linen gambeson, a tunic of mail and brandishing a claymore. She immediately recognized the plaid often worn by the Clan MacDougall draped over his shoulder. A few feet behind him stood two of his burly clansmen, one on either side of her uncle. She sucked in a short, sharp breath and averted her eyes, trying not to stare at Donald’s disheveled appearance, the bruises on his face, or the jagged cut above his left eye. There was no doubt in her mind he’d suffered a brutal beating at the hand of these scoundrels.

“I told you she just arrived and knows nothing about the man you seek. She—”

The warrior to Donald’s left delivered a punishing blow to Donald’s stomach, silencing his slurred words.

“Who are you? Why do you hold my uncle in chains?” Fallon raised her chin and glared at the MacDougall leader. She already knew the answer, but had caught her uncle’s discerning stare and the quick shake of his head before he doubled over in pain.

“My name is Dungal MacDougall.” He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his muscular chest, an act that made him look even more imposing. He took a menacing step forward and studied Fallon like he was judging a prize horse at an auction. “Mayhap the old man is telling the truth. I would have remembered one so fair.” He stroked her cheek then lifted a lock of her hair.

To keep from reacting to his vile touch, Fallon stared straight ahead and clenched her fists in her skirt. She wanted to swat his paw away, to tell him how disgusting she found his uninvited advances, but feared the repercussions would fall squarely on Donald’s shoulders.

Dungal’s lips curled in an evil grin. “You are a coy little minx, but I tire of this game. The man I seek is an enemy of the English crown. He is a fugitive from justice. We have reason to believe your uncle offered him refuge—a treasonable offence. Tell me where Bryce Fraser is or your uncle will suffer for your insolence.”

“She knows nothing,” Donald sputtered.

“My uncle speaks the truth. You are welcome to search the croft and the grounds if you wish, but you’ll find no one.” She stepped aside, giving him access.

Dungal inclined his head in the direction of the hut. “Take a look.” On his orders, two of his clansmen moved forward to check it out.

The minutes seemed like hours until the men returned. “There is no one inside, but it has been over a sennight since the battle. He could have come and gone.”

“Fraser was badly injured when I left him to die on the beach. I should have beheaded him and made sure he dinna live. The next time we meet, he willna be so lucky.” Dungal returned his attention to Fallon and moved to within inches of where she stood. “I will ask you again. Did you and your uncle tend to Bryce Fraser’s wounds and help him to escape?”

Dungal dragged his calloused finger along her chin, down her neck, and across her shoulder, before grabbing her upper arm with a crushing force. “Tell me where I can find Fraser and I may show mercy. Lie to me, and you will join your uncle on the gallows. It would be a shame to see such a pretty neck stretched and snapped by the hangman’s noose.”

Fallon nibbled on her lower lip. She had no idea what to do. Telling Dungal what he wanted to hear might save her uncle’s life, or mayhap could buy him more time. However, there were no guarantees when dealing with the Devil. How could she betray Bryce?

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Her eyes remained focused on her uncle. “I dinna know the man you are looking for. I was summoned to care for my sick aunt. But I arrived too late. She died of the pox shortly after I got here.” She bowed her head and crossed herself.

After a few minutes of silent deliberation, Dungal faced his men. “Take the old man to the village, where he will be tried and punished for treason.”

“Nay!” Fallon lunged forward and clutched Dungal’s forearm. “You canna arrest and execute an innocent man.”

Dungal tossed his head back, a cruel laugh resonating from his chest. But just as quickly, his cynical smirk changed to a threatening scowl. “On King Edward’s orders, I can and will do as I see fit. I have every reason to believe he aided a fugitive wanted for murder, concealed his whereabouts, and allowed him to escape. For those crimes, he will pay. As for you . . .” He paused, then wrenched his arm free of Fallon’s grasp. “I have yet to decide your fate.” He stomped toward his men. “Let’s go.”

“Please, you must listen to me.”

When Dungal failed to acknowledge her plea, she ran to Donald and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry. If only there was something I could do.”

“Hush, Fallon, there is nothing you can say to change things,” her uncle whispered. “Be a good lass and stay here. Once I’ve cleared my name, I’ll be home.”

Fallon tried to hold onto her uncle, but one of the guards grabbed her from behind and tugged them apart.

Donald’s attempt to reassure did little to stay her apprehension. Fallon wrapped her arms around her middle in a protective embrace as she watched them lead her uncle away. Despite his promise, she knew he would never return. He’d be tried and executed, to set an example if nothing more. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away.

Wailing and pleading would do no good. A heartless man like Dungal would view it as a sign of weakness and use it to his advantage. She’d be of no aid to Donald if they arrested her as well. Guilt twisted her gut. In protecting Bryce, had she betrayed her family?

Fallon crumpled to her knees as the horses thundered away from the croft. “I must do something to help my uncle, but what?” She dropped her head into her hands and prayed for answers that never came.

The gelding spent, Bryce slowed the beast to a walk. He patted the horse’s sweat-soaked neck and spoke softly. “You’ve done yourself proud. Once we arrive at our destination, I’ll see you’re given a generous portion of oats and are put to pasture in a lush field.”

The horse snorted and whinnied as if he understood, then trotted toward the gates of Turnberry. While the rendezvous point with Robert and Alasdair was in an undisclosed area outside the village proper, Bryce had arranged to meet with one of the Bruce’s men in the local tavern. In turn, he’d be escorted to the Bruce’s hiding spot. They expected him to arrive a fortnight ago and he hoped they’d not given up on him.

The bustling seaside village was a flurry of activity. Wares were offered from carts lining the streets. Holding bolts of fabric, iron pots, and finely forged weapons in the air, peddlers called out as he passed. When one item in particular caught Bryce’s eye, he reined in his mount and slid from the saddle. He leaned over the array of broaches, pendants, and hair accessories, plucking a carved wooden horse from the pile.

“Do you have a wee one at home?” the peddler asked.

“Nay, but my brother and his wife have a new babe.” The image of the chubby-cheeked cherub was still fresh in his mind and, the Almighty willing, he intended to be there to watch his nephew grow to manhood. He reached into his pouch, took out a silver coin, and paid the merchant.

Bryce held the toy in his hand and closed his eyes, remembering the last time he spoke with his brother Connor.

“What’s this nonsense I’ve heard about you leaving?” Connor slammed the door and stormed across the chamber.

“It’s a fact.” Bryce glanced over his shoulder in his brother’s direction then returned his attention to the task of packing his clothes.

“You canna go. I’ll not allow it.”

“How do you mean to stop me? I’m a grown man, and you’ll not be dictating what I can do. I’ve lived in your shadow long enough. The time has come for me to strike out on my own.” Rather than meet Connor’s stare of disapproval, Bryce picked up a pair of trews and shoved them into the canvas sack.

“Damnation, Bryce, I care what happens to you. We’ve already lost our parents and two of our brothers to the English. I’ll not have you traipsing off on some fool’s errand the way Alasdair did. Your place is here, at Fraser Castle.”

“Has Hell frozen over then?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Connor grabbed Bryce by the shoulder and spun him around.

Bryce shrugged out of his brother’s grasp and looked him in the eye. “I never thought I would see the day that you, of all people, would question my decision to rejoin the cause. You’ve been hell-bent to rid Scotland of the English as long as I can remember. You were with us at Methven, Dahl Righ, and Kirkenclif, witnessing the carnage. I swore on all that is holy to seek restitution. Robert the Bruce is returning to Scotland. I intend to join him and will finally have my chance to make good on those promises.”

“What makes you think the outcome will be any different this time around?” Connor glared at Bryce. “As laird of Clan Fraser, I forbid you to go.”

Bryce refused to back down. If pushed too far, he could be every bit as obstinate as both his older brothers combined. “This time, we intend to win.” He slammed his balled fist on a wooden table beside him, the vibration sending a tankard of ale to the floor. “Nothing you can do or say is going to change my mind.”

“You’re a
thrawn
man.” Connor threw his hands into the air and began to pace the length of Bryce’s chamber.

“It’s a family trait.” Connor stopped short, his expression less threatening than before. He drew in a slow, deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and gave his head a shake. “You always were a hard-headed fool. Mayhap, I should go with you and see that you stay out of trouble. Besides, if Robert hopes to drive de Valance out of Scotland, he’ll need every able-bodied man he can get.”

“One man willna make a difference. You have honored your oath to Robert many times over. Your place is here with Cailin and the babe.”

“That may be, but Alasdair is already with the Bruce on the
Eilean Arainn
. Duty dictates that I accompany you and do what I can. Cailin will be safe here.”

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time you left your wife and ran off to do battle? You thought she was securely sequestered at the priory, but it didn’t take long for the English to find her. Falsely accused of murdering a man you killed in her defense, she was tried, flogged, and slated for execution.”

“I dinna need any reminders.” Connor dropped his head forward and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck.

“Mayhap you do.” Bryce hated to be blunt, but would use whatever he could to keep his brother from following. “She is still a fugitive and is wanted by the English. Will you risk her life again?”

“We are all fugitives according to Longshanks, yet you risk yours. If captured, they’ll hang you,” Connor pointed out.

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Bryce raised a brow and smiled. “Besides, they’ll have to catch me first.”

Connor exhaled sharply and shook his head. “When do you leave?”

“I plan to head for Loch Ryan at daybreak. If I make haste, I should arrive in just shy of a
sennight
.”

“I thought you were meeting Robert and Alasdair near Turnberry.”

“I did, but the Bruce’s brothers, Alex and Thomas, are preparing to cross into Galloway at Loch Ryan as part of a diversion to keep the English busy.”

“Why not wait for Robert and Alasdair?” Connor asked.

“My gut tells me the MacDougalls of Lorn will be lying in wait and I fancy the chance to face the traitorous bastards again. Dungal will rue the day he decided to side with the English and betray his Scottish roots.” When Connor did not offer a response, Bryce picked up a tunic and stuffed it into the sack then pulled the drawstring closed. “This is something I need to do, but would rather leave on good terms and with your blessing.”

“If I canna convince you to stay, I have no choice but to wish you God’s spede.” Connor yanked Bryce into a tight embrace. “Believe it or not, I understand. Be careful, little brother, and watch your back. If you run off and get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.”

“I’ll do my best to return in one piece. I plan to watch Andrew grow to be as fine a man as his da. It will take more than the English army to keep me from returning.”

The peddler coughed to clear his throat. He picked up the sapphire-encrusted comb and held it in Bryce’s direction.