Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (6 page)

“He’ll do,” the bear said to the chief and stepped back from Nicholas.

“Perhaps.” The chief stared at him hard, as if weighing the truth in each word one by one and Nicholas realized how shrewd the man was. He’d let the bear goad Nicholas while he’d watched his reactions, judged him. “Where are you bound for?” he asked at last.

Nicholas looked over at the castle, then back to the man standing in front of him. “Here, if you will allow it. I have been traveling for a long time. It would be nice to bide a while in one place. Perhaps someone here will ken something of my home.”

Once more he could almost see Kenneth measuring his words for lies but since it was all truth, though not all
of
the truth, there were no lies to be found. At length he glanced at the bear and they nodded slightly to each other without exchanging a single word.

“You can bide a short while here,” the chief said.

Nicholas let out a slow breath and smiled but the chief’s glower got darker.

“I said a short while, and you’ll have to work for your keep.”

“Of course.” Nicholas knew there was more to come. No man invited strangers into the midst of his home so easily.

“We’ve been the winter without news of the world,” the chief said, “and now it appears we have need of men to clear the wall.”

“What do you ken of walls and their construction?” the bear asked Nicholas.

Nicholas looked over his shoulder at the rubble field and shrugged. “I know how to run away from them when they fall.” A grudging splatter of chuckles ran through the two otherwise silent men. “Other than that, I’ve seen them built a time or two but know little of the ways of doing it.”

“Do you have enough muscles to do more than run?” the bear asked.

“Enough to take you down, auld man.” Nicholas grinned at him, playing the game the bear seemed to enjoy. “I have done a bit of labor in my life. I can help clear the rubble but I will be of no use building it back.” Of course he wouldn’t be here long enough to build it back anyway, but they needn’t know that.

“Hmph,” the chief scowled at him. “You shall work with Uilliam here.” He jerked his thumb toward the bear. “The faster we can get the rubble moved, the faster we can rebuild the wall. You do not mind hard work, do you?”

Nicholas shook his head, but he was still trying to find the catch in the invitation, for he was sure there was one.

“And you’ll not be leaving his sight”—the chief leaned his head toward Uilliam.

“Or Duncan’s,” Uilliam interrupted, echoing the chief’s gesture by jerking his thumb at the younger of the other two men. Nicholas judged Duncan to be about his own age of a score and five or possibly a little less. His brown hair whipped about his face, making it difficult to judge either his temperament or his precise age.

“Or Duncan’s sight for any reason,” the chief finished.

And there it was—the catch. He’d found a way into the castle but he wouldn’t have free run of it. It was good enough for the moment. Once he’d had the time to gain the trust of these men, the rest would fall into place.

The chief stepped toward Nicholas until his craggy face blocked out everything else.

“You ken that I’m granting you hospitality, aye?” He poked a sharp finger in Nicholas’s chest. “And with it my protection? In case your Sassenach father did not explain your responsibilities in such
a situation, let me. You will bring no harm to anyone within this castle while you bide here. And in exchange, we will make you the same pledge. No harm to you while you bide within these walls. Do you accept our hospitality?”

Hospitality. It was a Highland custom he had counted on and not something most of the king’s spies would understand. Never was such a promise of safety made in the English court and yet here, in the Highlands, where the world was full of dangers from men and nature it was a grant of reprieve from all that, an offer of safety, of comfort, of sustenance, however temporary, and in exchange he must vow the same—to bring no harm to these people. He swallowed, strangely unwilling to enter into an oath he was unlikely to be able to keep.

But he had no choice. He needed access to this castle. If he did not accept he was sure he would, at best, be sent on his way; at worst, he’d be imprisoned… or dead.

“I accept.”

CHAPTER THREE

R
OWAN GRIMACED BUT
refused to admit how much the cut in her side hurt in spite of the mint poultice her cousin had used to numb it. At least she had been the only one injured. And for all that it hurt, it could have been so much worse if the stranger, Nicholas of Achnamara—she liked the way his name rolled around in her head—hadn’t caught her when she’d tripped, hadn’t pulled her to safety.

Rowan grunted as Jeanette poked at the cut, making sure all the stone was out. “That is enough, Jeanette. I have work to do.”

“She is almost done, Rowan, but you will not be seeing to any work the rest of this day,” Elspet said from her bed. Scotia sat next to her with her arms crossed like armor and pique painted all over her face.

Rowan wanted to argue, but she’d not tax Elspet’s fragile energy by doing so. “You know what a good hand Jeanette has for this work.” Pride twined through Elspet’s quiet praise. “If she says you will barely have a scar when it is healed, you ken that to be true.”

Rowan didn’t care about a scar. But she did care that she hadn’t done her proper duty with Scotia. If she had kept a closer watch on her wayward cousin, she never would have been meeting Conall on that path and none of them would have been in danger when the wall came down.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get Scotia away from there before the wall collapsed.”

Jeanette looked up at Rowan, their faces so close Rowan could feel her cousin’s breath on her cheek. “And what, pray tell, was she doing on that poor excuse for a path that was more important than being here with her mother?” Jeanette looked across to the bed and
leveled a stern glance at her sister even though Scotia wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Elspet managed to echo Jeanette’s question without ever saying a word. She simply turned her mother’s eye on her youngest daughter—but the girl remained stubbornly mute.

The image of Scotia and Conall wrapped in each other’s arms flashed through Rowan’s mind, bringing the memory of the warmth and unsettling feelings that had swamped her when Nicholas held her hand in his. Remembering the heat of his touch brought with it the memory of his scent that had washed over her, earthy and fresh, like the forest she loved to wander. An unusual restlessness gripped her. It had taken more self-control than she’d thought it should to leave him to face her uncle and Uilliam.

“Rowan?” Elspet’s voice wavered slightly, rising on a thin note of concern. Rowan retraced her wandering thoughts to find the question Elspet wanted answered.

“I do not know what Scotia was doing on the path.” She closed her eyes as Jeanette pressed a pad of linen against her wound, soaking up the still oozing blood, thankful for the excuse not to meet her aunt’s. She hated lying to her but Elspet did not need more worries, especially not where her errant daughter was concerned. “But she did not want to come away and I stood there and argued with her.”

“Is this true?” Elspet had a hand on Scotia’s arm. “Why would you not do as your cousin asked?”

Scotia glanced at Rowan with a look that seemed to ask for help. Rowan shifted on the bench, searching for a way to explain without actually lying.

“Be still, Ro. Scotia, go and fetch another kirtle for Rowan. This one”—Jeanette indicated the bloodstained one lying on the floor at Rowan’s feet—“will have to be mended and cleaned, though I know not if the blood will come out.”

Scotia didn’t say anything but she did have the grace to mouth “my thanks” to both of them as she slid off the bed and made for the chamber door.

“Are you done?” Rowan asked Jeanette.

“Nay.” She reached into the basket that sat by her feet and pulled out a small glass vessel. An oiled leather scrap was secured with a thong about the wide neck. She opened it and the sharp scent of vinegar mixed with something herbal made Rowan wrinkle her nose. Jeanette slathered some of the salve over the wound. As soon as the salve touched it, a hiss escaped Rowan’s lips.

“That burns!”

“Aye, but auld Morven swears it keeps a wound from festering. Hold still.” She blew on the cut and a cooling sensation radiated from the salve, dampening the pain. “Better?”

Rowan nodded. “Now can I dress?”

Jeanette chuckled. “I need to put a dressing over it first.” Minutes later Jeanette had covered her work with a fresh linen pad and wrapped a long length of more linen tightly about Rowan’s ribs to hold it in place.

Scotia came back into the room, a kirtle hung over her arm. Jeanette glanced at their mother, who had drifted into one of her many naps.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Scotia,” Jeanette said quietly, taking the undergarment from her and handing it to Rowan. “ ’Tis bad enough to ignore your duty to your mother, but to put Rowan and that stranger in peril, too.” She shook her head at her sister. “What were you thinking?”

The stubborn glint was back in Scotia’s eyes as she glared at Jeanette. “I did not ken the wall was about to collapse. How should I ken such a thing?”

The moment the wall had started to fall was etched in Rowan’s memory… a memory that included a terrible headache that had plagued her up until that very moment.

And then it had ceased, leaving only the echo of it behind.

Another memory tickled her mind, flitting just out of reach—a terrible headache, a wall falling—but she couldn’t grab the memory and pull it close.

A shiver sent goose bumps over her flesh.

“You’d have likely been crushed beneath the stones if Rowan hadn’t come in search of you.” Jeanette was wagging a finger, scolding Scotia, something they all seemed to do more and more of these days.

Scotia stared at her for a long moment, then huffed and quickly climbed back on the bed next to her mother, whose eyelids flickered open. “And Rowan would have never had cause to be rescued by such a braw man as Nicholas of Achnamara if she had not needed to come find me.” The girl smiled like she’d eaten something sweet.

Rowan’s face and the rest of her body went hot, except for the oddly still chilled wound. “Do you think Uncle Kenneth will let him stay?”

Elspet’s face went from sleepy to serious. “He helped you and Scotia. I expect he will be allowed to bide a while at least, though it will depend upon what impression he makes upon the chief.”

Rowan had a strong impression of Nicholas of Achnamara. He was a stranger, yet he’d done a service to the clan this day. Surely that spoke to his character. And then there was the fact that he was a strong man who looked able to wield a sword or an ax in defense of the clan. Saints and angels, they needed men for that. But there was still the lingering question of why he had been there just when-the wall fell. Where had he come from? She tried to hang on to her doubts about him, to ignore the memory of him holding her hand, tucking her hair behind her ear. When he touched her, she’d gone breathless in a way that had naught to do with running up the hill.

“See, Mum?” Scotia leaned her head close to Elspet like two girls trading secrets. “Rowan’s cheeks are bright. She does notice braw warriors. It is only necessary to distract her from her duties long enough for them to make themselves known to her.”

Rowan scowled at her cousin until she noticed the twinkle in her aunt’s eyes. She wished to see more of that familiar teasing glint.

“I will admit,” she said, letting her mind wander to the man in question, “he is very well built, with hair as dark as Scotia’s, but unruly.” The sudden thought that it would be soft sent her stomach pitching and a new wave of heat to her face.

“Is he as braw as Rowan describes?” Elspet asked Scotia, as if they were gossiping in private.

“Och, aye. And more so. He is broad in the shoulder, narrow in the hip, and his plaid showed off his finely muscled calves. I think he may even have a dimple in one cheek”—Scotia leaned her head upon her mother’s shoulder as if in a swoon—“though Uilliam had him scowling most of the time so ’twas hard to tell for sure.”

“ ’Tis sorry I am that I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting such a fine specimen of a man.” Elspet’s teasing smile brightened the room and Rowan realized they were all smiling back at her aunt. A different kind of warmth infused her heart, seeping deep into her bones. What would the three of them do if Elspet didn’t get better? How would they go on?

Rowan had lost both of her parents years ago and now she was faced with losing her beloved aunt, too. Grief threatened to overwhelm her but she pushed it back. There would be time enough for grieving. For now, they were here, safe, and together.

If this happy moment required that Rowan was the focus of their collective teasing, so be it, for the sunny smile that lit up Elspet’s face was worth any embarrassment her impish cousin Scotia would rain down upon her.

“I notice braw men,” Rowan said with a wink at Jeanette, “ ’tis only that I never have a chance to catch their eye before Scotia bats hers and addles their wee brains.”

“I do not!” Scotia said, sitting up on the bed, ire snapping in the air between them.

“Aye, my lassie, you do,” Elspet said with a more wistful smile. “You do, but this one—what did you say his name was?”

“Nicholas of Achnamara,” Scotia said.

“Nicholas, he had eyes for our Rowan, aye? Only for our Rowan?”

“Nay, he did not!” Rowan said with a laugh.

Scotia gave a huge sigh. “Aye, only for Ro.” She snuggled up next to her mother and laid her head back on Elspet’s shoulder. “Mum, as I left to find Jeanette he knelt beside her and took her hand into his.” She looked over at Rowan again, narrowing her eyes and pursing her
lips. “You should have seen how startled Ro looked. Silly lass could have leaned forward and kissed him but she just sat there, staring into his eyes.”

“Not all of us are used to throwing ourselves at men,” Jeanette said quietly, partly teasing but clearly from her tone not entirely.