Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) (26 page)

“What’s your name?” Nicholas asked the prisoner.

“Bryn of Beaumaris,” he answered without hesitation as Malcolm joined them from the same path the others had taken.

“An archer, aye? From Wales?” Nicholas asked.

“I am.”

“Why did you let yourself be caught?” Duncan asked. It had been exceedingly odd that as soon as the older soldier had fallen, Bryn had thrown down his bow and given himself up.

“I have no love for the English. I was taken from my home and my family and impressed into service in Edward’s army when I was ten and five. I was good with a bow. All of us who had any skill with the bow were taken by the king’s army.”

“Why did you not escape and return home if you have no love for the English?” Malcolm asked.

Bryn’s head jerked as he looked in Malcolm’s direction, though Duncan was certain the man could see nothing. “I have no home to go to. My father was a mason. We followed the castles and lived in the work camps. It has been at least ten years since I became an archer. I know not where my family might be now.”

The three men looked at each other. Duncan shrugged, not sure whether to believe the man or not. It would be useful if one of the Guardians could tell if someone spoke the truth.

That dragged his thoughts away from Bryn to Scotia. What had Nicholas done with her? He knew better than to speak of clan business in front of their prisoner, but he was worried about her, regardless of how angry he still was with her latest debacle. He was not pleased with himself for worrying. He should be done with her, but he could not stop his concern. The look in her eyes when she was exposing all her fears and mistakes, when she took responsibility for Myles’s death, and her mum’s, had been so sincere, so without guile or pretense. He had forced himself to keep away from her, though he had not been able to stand there and watch her blame herself for her mum’s murder.

It all made sense now, though, the changes in her, the choices she’d made.

“How far away are Lord Sherwood and his forces?” Malcolm asked.

Bryn sighed. “They are at least two days away unless he leaves the supplies and everyone but the soldiers to make their way separately. If he brings only the soldiers and they are all on foot, a day, perhaps a day and a half.”

Duncan looked to Malcolm, who was nodding his head slightly.

“How many men does he have?” Malcolm asked.

“He started with two score, but they have been harried almost every night since we arrived by other Scots. Perhaps a score and ten now? I am not sure as I’ve been scouting this area for several days.”

“Take him to the training area, Duncan,” Nicholas said. “Secure him there. Gag him. I will send someone to take over his watch. We have another situation to see to.”

“You do not mean to kill me now I’ve cooperated?” Bryn asked. “According to Lord Sherwood all Highlanders are murderous brigands, but then that’s what he says about the Welsh, too.”

“Do not count on your future just yet, archer,” Nicholas said and signaled Duncan to take the man away.

The wood was dark and the moon had not risen yet, so it was slow going taking the man down into the glen. Duncan had barely secured Bryn in the training area when one of the older and more able lads arrived. He motioned for Duncan to head to the Guardians’ bower without so much as a sound. Clearly he had been instructed not to speak in front of the prisoner. Duncan pulled hard on the bindings.

“If you continue as you have begun,” he said to the archer, “and we do not find that you have lied to us, there is hope for you. Cross us, and you will be dead before you see it coming. You”—he looked at the lad—“stay standing. ’Tis too easy to let your mind wander or your eyes close if you sit.”

The lad nodded vigorously, and Duncan headed back up the ben, fatigue and an empty belly finally catching up with him.

When he reached the bower he found the Guardians and their husbands huddled together near a small fire. Scotia was tied to a tree, and he could tell she was focused entirely on the whispered conversation, though he doubted she could hear much of it. She looked tired, but something about her had changed once again. Where she had lost her unique spark earlier, when she confessed her sins, she now almost glowed with it.

“You have missed much, laddie.” Peigi surprised him. He must truly be tired not to have noticed her sitting on a large stone just next to where he stood. She held out a hand to him, and he helped her to her feet. “I set aside a few bannocks for you, though I was not able to bring the evening’s stew with me when they forced me out of the cave site.” She opened a pouch hanging from her belt and handed him three bannocks.

They were dry, but he was hungry enough he cared not.

“Duncan is here,” Peigi announced then, startling the group by the fire as if they, too, had not known she was there.

He heard Scotia say his name, but he did not look at her. He was afraid he would forgive her for what she had done this day, and he was not ready to do that.

“What has happened?” he asked.

“It would seem the Guardians have a plan for Scotia, and they will not condone any sort of punishment for her until they are done with her,” Nicholas said, clearly irritated with the wife he adored.

“I believe—” Scotia started to speak, and he almost looked at her.

“She makes a compelling case that she is the third Guardian, Duncan,” Rowan said. “We must find out if she is right before we do anything else.”

“But nothing happened when she found the broken-arrow symbol upon the Story Stone,” he said. “When Jeanette found—”
He stopped. He looked at Scotia, and suddenly he understood. “What makes you think you are worthy now?”

T
HE FORCE OF
Duncan’s question pushed Scotia back against the tree. His eyes were narrowed, and his hands were fisted by his side. The pain and distrust she saw in him opened up a hollow place in her chest that she feared only he could fill. She tried to rub it away with the heel of her hand, only to be harshly reminded that she was still trussed up like a prisoner.

She dropped her hands back into her lap, took a deep breath, and tried to steady her nerves. This was too important not to tread carefully, but absolutely truthfully, with Duncan.

“I dinna ken if I am worthy,” she began, choosing her words with care, “but I understand the symbol now, and Jeanette said only the one meant for that symbol would understand it.” She explained what she had figured out to him, just as she had twice already, once to the Guardians and once to their Protectors. She watched him as she spoke, trying to determine if he believed her, but she could see no change in his expression or posture.

When she stopped speaking everyone waited for him to say something, but he just stared at her.

“We must take her back to the Story Stone, Duncan,” Jeanette said, her voice pitched low, as if she spoke to a wild animal easily spooked. “We must find out if she is truly meant to be a Guardian. She may be the piece that we are missing. She may be the key to creating a true Highland Targe. Rowan and I have tried and tried to create one without success. Small barriers, aye, we can do that, but we cannot make one that could protect this route into the Highlands. If she is a third Guardian . . .”

“It is too dangerous to take anyone to the Story Stone meadow,” Duncan said. “The English could be as little as a day away. Lord
Sherwood may have sent other scouting parties ahead. There is no cover there, no way to keep two Guardians safe.”

“We can keep ourselves safe, Duncan,” Rowan said, an edge to her voice that Scotia well recognized from when she did or said something her cousin did not like. “We, the Guardians and the Protectors, have decided this must be done. Malcolm has a plan for how to make it as safe as possible for everyone. We leave before dawn.”

“So she has convinced you to put all of us at risk for her scheme?”

“Duncan!” There was scorn in his words, but Scotia knew they were meant for her, not Rowan, and that he would hate himself come dawn for speaking to the Guardian in such a disrespectful manner, and that, too, would be her fault. “Duncan, please, listen to me.”

She desperately wanted to stand. Sitting looking up at him as she said what must be said left her feeling helpless and all too vulnerable, but there was naught she could do about that right now. “I ken I have hurt you and destroyed whatever trust I had earned from you, but this is not for me. This is for the clan. This is a way that I can be of service to everyone I have wronged. It may not change the way I am thought of, but that is not at issue. The safety of the clan, the protection of the Highlands, and the chance to do what needs doing for the right reasons, that is what is important. That is what you have taught me, though I was late to understanding the lessons. If I fail to be chosen as a Guardian, so be it. But if I can make it possible to create a true Targe, then we have to try. Aye?”

“Listen to the lassie,” Peigi said softly. “Listen with your heart and you will hear that she speaks from hers.”

Scotia pressed her lips together and blinked away the moisture that tried to gather in her eyes. Peigi believed her.

“There is one more thing I must say to you, Duncan,” Scotia said before he said anything that might dash the hope that still
flickered in her. “There is one last lie that I must own up to, and for it I ask your forgiveness, for I told it to hurt you when you did not deserve any more hurt than I had already caused.”

He looked away from her, and she thought he closed his eyes.

“Please, Duncan, look at me. Please?”

He turned his gaze back to her, but his face was devoid of any emotion as if his heart had frozen against her, and she knew it was too late. She could not mend what she had broken so completely, but she still must tell him the truth. She had promised herself no more lies.

“Duncan, I told you I held no love for you in my heart. ’Twas a lie. ’Twas an evil, hateful lie. I dinna ken when it started, but I ken now that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. At first I idolized you like a big brother, but you are
not
my brother, and as I have grown, so my feelings have changed and grown, too. You have lavished your care and attention on me my whole life. You have watched over me, kept me safe, even from myself at times. You have been my teacher, my guide, my rock, and lately you have been my friend, and I threw it all away with my . . . when I should have . . .”

She steadied herself, determined not to shed a single tear though her heart was truly breaking, and she knew beyond doubt that she had done this to herself.

“I am sorry, Duncan, more than you can know, that I did not have the room in my heart to allow these feelings out. I love you, Duncan, and I hope someday you can find a way to forgive me for the terrible things I have done. I hope, someday, we might be”—she took a deep breath—“friends again.”

Duncan stared at her for a long, long moment, then without a word to anyone, he left.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

S
COTIA HAD NOT
slept at all, even though Jeanette had decided, against both Nicholas’s and Malcolm’s wishes, to cut her loose from the tree. Sometime in the night she had heard Peigi join one of the groups of people passing near the bower on their way back to the caves and was grateful that they had not needed to abandon the glen altogether, and that Peigi could return to her heather mattress in the great cave. If the clan had not been able to return to the caves, that would have also been her fault, but as usual Duncan, with the help of the MacKenzies, had saved the clan from that necessity.

As Scotia lay on the cold ground, wrapped in a plaid, she stared across the small space at her sister, wrapped in the arms of Malcolm, and her cousin, asleep with her head in Nicholas’s lap as he kept watch. A loneliness so deep it stopped her breath pulled at her, as if it might tear her apart, bit by bit, and the distance between herself and the others in the bower seemed to stretch and grow, leaving her more alone than ever.

She missed her mum. She missed the light that used to shine in her da’s eyes when she was a wean and got into mischief. She missed the way Duncan would take her hand and draw her away from trouble with the promise of a story or a sweet when she was little, and how of late he had driven her in her training to be faster, stronger, better.

She missed the smell of him, and the sure touch of his hands
upon her when he stood close behind her and helped her adjust the angle of her sword, or the position of her shield.

She missed the kisses they had shared, the passion he had roused in her, and wished with all her heart that she had taken it upon herself to kiss him just one more time before she had thrown everything away.

Duncan had loved her, though she doubted he ever would again. All she could do to prove that she had changed was to live the lessons he’d taught her, both the warrior lessons and the smaller lessons he had tried to teach her for years about how to be a better person, how to think of others first, and how to mind her emotions so they did not continue to put her and those around her in danger. He might never love her again, and for that she could not blame him, but perhaps, in time, they might find a way to be friends, true friends this time, for she would think of his needs before her own, as he always did for her. It was not all that she wanted, not nearly, but it would be something. It would have to be enough.