Highlander's Sword (27 page)

   Aila had never ridden this far into McNab's terri tory, though she had seen rough sketches of the area. She proceeded in the direction of McNab's tower house, using nothing but prayer and dead reckoning. The sun had risen above the horizon and fought its way through the thick mist, giving the dense fog a rosy hue. She picked her way through the trees up a slope to a ridgeline. From there, she hoped to gain her bearings.

   From somewhere in the mist, horses approached, soft at first then rumbling closer. The sound echoed in the trees and the fog, making it impossible to ascertain from where the noise was coming, and she could not determine which way to flee. Suddenly, mounted knights sprang from the mist and raced down the hill side to her left without noticing her. She recognized MacLaren's colors. These were his men, but where were they going? Where was MacLaren? Had they finished their mission so soon? They raced past her only to be swallowed up in the fog again as they sped out of sight. Nay, something was wrong.

   Without thinking, she raced up the hill to the crest of the ridge just as the sun broke through the fog. In the valley was a veritable army, riding toward her at speed. She gasped at the image of their quarries— MacLaren and Chaumont, riding hard up the slope. Chasing them were hundreds of armored knights, the sun glinting off their helms. Thundering hooves beat the ground, shaking the very earth. Her mind swam. McNab could not possibly have raised such an army… could he? Wherever this army had come from, one thing was clear: MacLaren was going to die.

   The thunderous approach was not lost on Shadow, who had memories of his own. He reared, kicking the air and swirling the fingers of mist around them. She was struck by a desperate idea. It was madness, but perhaps if MacLaren had taken her for the ghost of Bruce, others would too. Aila urged Shadow forward to the top of the ridge, in full view of the monstrous army. Shadow's shrill neigh pierced the dawn, and he reared again. The sound of the approaching army softened, and the air around her grew deathly still. The soldiers slowed to a stop. Shadow reared once again, his penetrating neigh cutting across the valley before she could calm him.

   MacLaren and Chaumont reached the top, and MacLaren raced for her. She could not see his face behind his helm, but she tingled at his approach all the same. He was not dead. Och, but he was going to be angry.

   "Aila, get down," he hissed as he rode toward her, and she complied. They rode down the other slope and stopped out of sight of the approaching soldiers. Chaumont dismounted and crawled back up to the ridge to determine what McNab's forces would do.

   Grabbing the reins from Aila's hands, MacLaren snapped, "What are ye doing here?"

   "Ye're alive!" she said happily.

   "Have ye taken leave o' yer senses?"

   Chaumont slid down to their location. "They are pulling back. Looks like they are going around the forest, though I cannot tell you why. Lady Aila, is that you?" Chaumont removed his helm and looked confused.

   "Good morn to ye, Sir Chaumont."

   "Mercy me, my lady. I thought you were some sort of apparition."

   "They believe her to be the ghost o' Robert the Bruce," MacLaren snarled, also removing his helm. Aila thought for a moment he might throw it at her. Chaumont laughed, but MacLaren was finding no humor in the situation.

   "Ah, so the superstitious Scots won't enter the haunted forest, and the French follow their lead. My lady, you are to be congratulated," said Chaumont, bowing low. "You have saved this morning from becoming a rout, and since it is my own life you have protected, I give you my utmost thanks."

   Aila sat taller in her saddle and smiled back. "Thank ye kindly." She hoped MacLaren might also praise her valor. Her hopes fell the instant she saw his face. He was glaring at her, the veins on his temple bulging. "What the bloody hell are ye doing here?"

   "The whiskey's poisoned. Dinna drink it," Aila's voice was timid in the face of such anger.

   "What? How do ye ken that? And what are ye doing here!?"

   "I… I'm trying to save ye from drinking the poison." Aila's voice grew softer as MacLaren's grew louder.

   "Did I or did I no' tell ye to remain in yer room?"

   "Aye."

   "When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed. Ye could have been killed or taken prisoner by McNab, ye ken? Unless that was yer true motive for coming to his gate."

   Aila gasped. She was beginning to wonder why she had bothered to come all this way to save him. "I was trying to save yer life."

   "Just because ye take some scattered-brained notion into yer wee head 'tis no reason for disobedience. 'Tis time ye learnt that wi' disobedience comes punishment."

   Aila leaned back, but he still held her reins.

   "I'll take whatever punishment you had in mind." Chaumont said mildly, mounted once again and nudging in between their horses. "If the lady needs a champion, I will be he."

   "This is no concern o' yers," MacLaren growled.

   "Ah, but it is. The Lady Aila has saved your life and mine, though I'm thinking you hardly deserve the saving." He turned to Aila, asking, "What makes you think the whiskey was poisoned?"

   "The whiskey was delivered for our wedding night by Senga. I dinna ken from whom. The mouse who tasted a drop is stone cold now." She glared at MacLaren. "If ye dinna believe me, why don't ye take a draft and see for yerself?"

   MacLaren took the flask from where it was tied to his saddle. He removed the stopper, smelled it, and lifted the flask to his lips.

"NAY, SIR, DINNA DRINK IT!" EXCLAIMED AILA.

   MacLaren spat out the whiskey and poured the contents onto the ground.

   "Poisoned?" asked Chaumont.

   MacLaren nodded but kept his eyes on Aila. Neither noticed Chaumont slowly backing away, allowing MacLaren to come beside her again. MacLaren removed his gauntlets and returned her reins to her, placing his hands over hers. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

   "I think the words you're searching for are, 'I'm sorry for being a horse's arse.'" Chaumont's words floated through the mist, making Aila smile. MacLaren glared in Chaumont's direction, the familiar scowl returning to his face.

   "Let's ride. We need to reach Dundaff as soon as possible to warn them o' the impending siege." MacLaren released Aila's hands.

   "Siege?" The very word struck fear in Aila's gut.

   "Aye, 'tis likely. They have the soldiers now, though I canna begin to explain how."

   "Can we survive it?" The mist suddenly felt more cold and foreboding.

   "For a while, at least," MacLaren had been part of many a siege though generally on the offensive side. If you had a well-equipped, well-disciplined army and were willing to wait, the occupants, or what was left of them, nearly always surrendered. To be the object of a siege was not a thing he relished, knowing slow starvation would probably be his future. Yet he had made a promise to Graham to stand with him against his enemies, and he would do it.

   "We've no' brought in the crops yet," said Aila, her eyes wide. "We'll starve."

   "We have much to prepare afore they surround the castle. Let's ride."

   "Wait! What if we could get more warriors to join the battle on our side?"

   "Aye, that's the only way to defeat the army—meet them on the field. But we dinna have enough troops to face the army McNab has somehow raised, even with our forces combined."

   "What if we sent a plea to the Campbells for help?"

   "Aye, the Campbells have the warriors to do the job. But wi' all due respect, if they did naught to help yer father when McNab was burning his fields, what makes ye think they would help now?

   "Because we are fostering Hamish, one o' the laird's sons. He would be caught up in the siege, too."

   MacLaren raised an eyebrow. That was certainly interesting information. The lass had a point, a good one. They should certainly appeal to the Campbells for assistance. "'Tis a bonnie idea. We'll send a messenger as soon as we reach Dundaff."

   "But we're half the way to the Campbells now. If we return all the way to Dundaff only to send a rider back here, it will waste an entire day. We should ride now to Laird Campbell."

   "Nay, I must return wi' my men and make prepa rations. They take orders from none but me. I must return now."

   "Then I will ride to the Campbells."

   MacLaren replied instantly. "Nay, ye will return to Dundaff."

   "Where it's safe? If Dundaff is to be sieged, I'd be safer riding the country requesting assistance than inside the castle walls fighting over the last scraps of food."

   "Ye forget ye are what he wants. Ye canna ride around wi'out protection. Ye could be taken again or robbed and killed. Ye dinna understand the dangers."

   "I will take the message," offered Chaumont.

   "Do ye ken the way?" Aila asked.

   "Not at all. Is it difficult to find from here?"

   No one answered, leaving Chaumont to guess that indeed it was.

   "I can do this. Please let me help me people," beseeched Aila.

   "Nay, 'tis too dangerous for a woman alone," said MacLaren impatiently.

   Chaumont spoke up again. "I will be her guard."

   "Nay!" shouted MacLaren at Chaumont. "She'll no' be riding to the Campbells. I've lost all who are dear to me. I winna lose her, too."

   "I'm dear to ye?" asked Aila.

"I'm not?" asked Chaumont.

   MacLaren scowled at them, sputtering a few incoherent words. A small smile played on Aila's lips. Perhaps he cared for her after all. The thought warmed her, and despite the dire situation, she felt rather lighthearted. Somehow the revelation gave her courage, and she was even more determined to ride to the Campbells. She had thought she might be able to do it a moment ago, but if MacLaren felt something akin to affection for her, she knew she could.

   "MacLaren… Padyn, I'm a fast rider. Ye ken it. None will catch me. Let me do this thing. Let me help save my clan."

   MacLaren glared, but this time she interpreted the look as one of concern.

   "Your wife makes a valid argument. I swear no harm will come to her," Chaumont said quietly. At least she had convinced him.

   "After we secure the Campbells' assistance, we can return to the castle through the secret passage I told ye about," Aila continued.

   "Nay." MacLaren shook his head, turning to Chaumont. "After ye return from the Campbells, take her to the convent where she will be safe from this. Then ye alone may return to the castle."

   Aila's heart soared. "Thank ye. I will no' fail ye." MacLaren trusted her to do this mission, and it made her warm and tingly. She wanted to return to Dundaff after going to the Campbells, to stand with her people, but she knew better than to press her luck.

   MacLaren looked from Aila to Chaumont. Aila sensed the struggle with his thoughts, or possibly his emotions. He looked decidedly unhappy. Aila waited, hoping for some declaration of love.

   "We've tarried in this glen too long," said MacLaren. Aila nodded and turned to go. It was not exactly what she was hoping for. MacLaren called back to them, "Aila, take care. Ye are… well… ye are dear to me."

   Aila smiled with delight. "As ye are to me."

   "Ahem." Chaumont cleared his throat, looking at MacLaren expectantly.

   "Chaumont, ye auld bastard, yer dear to me, too. Now look after my lady wife, or I'll run ye through."

   "MacLaren," responded Chaumont with an easy smile, "oh lawful son of wedded parents, I love you, too."

Chaumont was a good rider, swift and sure. His mount was strong, his cause noble, and he had been saved from having to die bravely. It was his chivalric duty to be courageous in the face of impossible odds, in order to protect the life of MacLaren and his fellow knights. Had Aila not intervened, MacLaren and he surely would have been killed, hopefully allowing their fellow comrades in arms enough time to escape a rout and live to sing melancholy tales of their tragic last stand. Fortunately, Aila, or rather her impersonation of an apparition, had saved him from the honor of the type of heroism that generally proved fatal.

   The sun rose in the sky, chasing away the damp and the mist. Chaumont was generally cheerful, but today was a sheer delight. All he had to do now was follow Aila's lead, guard her person, and secure an alliance with the Campbells. There was also the matter of the Golden Knight, far afield from his rightful place in France. But Chaumont wasn't about to let a few hundred well-trained knights come between him and his good humor.

   Chaumont easily threaded through the trees down the slope, following Aila. When they reached the open heath, she nudged her mount into a gallop and raced away. He kicked his mount to follow, riding fast, then faster. Soon he was approaching dangerous speeds, but still the image of Aila kept getting smaller as she distanced him with every step. There was nothing he could do but urge his mount forward and hold on for dear life. She was as swift as the wind. No woman should be able to ride with such speed. It was maddening, humbling, and intriguing. He thought of MacLaren and couldn't help but smile. He had truly married a vixen despite her shy appearance. Chaumont raced after her, desperately trying to keep her in sight. It was unmanning to have a mere slip of a girl best him so easily, and as soon as he caught up with her, he would tell her so. It didn't appear they would be having words anytime soon.