Highlander's Sword (29 page)

   Chaumont nodded. He understood. She was bound to this land; she could not give it up without losing herself along with it. "Then I will stay with you."

   "Nay. Ye must return to MacLaren."

   "I will not leave you. I cannot leave you alone and unprotected."

   "Nay, 'tis no' right."

   Chaumont closed his hands around hers. "Come with me, Mary."

   Mary looked up into his eyes. Chaumont gazed back into hers and was lost.

   "Stay with me, Mary," he murmured.

   She closed her eyes and nodded. Chaumont drew her into his arms and held her tight.

With a sense of relief, Aila approached the Campbell stronghold by mid-afternoon. She had made it. Now all she had to do was convince Laird Campbell to go to war against the French… their traditional allies. As she approached the castle, Aila was hailed several times by various guards to state her business. To each, she replied, "Message to the Campbell from the Graham." At the second gate, six mounted guards surrounded her and rode with her through the series of gates, drawbridges, and portcullises. Even though she was accustomed to castle life and formidable defenses, the Campbells were impressive, to say the least. The men around her watched her carefully, and she wondered if she was being escorted or captured. Probably a bit of both.

   During her ride, she had focused solely on the road ahead, traveling as swiftly as possible. Now that she had arrived at the Campbells, she must devise a plan of what to say. But how could she explain the laird's own daughter coming alone, unguarded, to ask Campbell to go to war against the French? How could she even explain who was attacking Graham? A marauding hoard of French knights seemed unlikely to say the least. She stood in the entryway of the main keep, waiting with her ever-present guard, unsure of what to say. She had yet to lower her cowl, the hood obscuring her face, so she was treated as she appeared—a young messenger.

   "Come here, lad," said a man Aila thought to be the steward. She followed him into a side room. "Give me yer message," he commanded, holding out his hand.

   This was going to be a problem. "The message I have 'tis for the Campbell's ears only."

   "Laird Campbell is no' here. Whate'er yer message, ye can give it to me, lad."

   Aila inwardly groaned. The Campbells had more than one fortress on their extensive lands. She had ridden to the one closest to the border with MacLaren, hoping luck would be with her. It was not.

   "My message regards the laird's own son. I must speak to him."

   The steward frowned. "Ye refer to Hamish, Laird Campbell's seventh son, who is fostering with the Graham?"

   "Aye"

   "Is he well? Has he taken ill?"

   "He is well enough for now, but he be in grave danger. I must speak to the Campbell. Please tell me where I can find him."

   The steward looked thoughtful, then told Aila to wait, turned on his heel, and left. While Aila waited, a ghillie brought her food and drink. She had not realized how hungry she was until smell of food awakened her appetite. It was all she could do not to grab at it before it was even set on the small table. She ate ravenously, hoping for luck with whoever would come through the door next. Remembering herself, she paused her eating and turned her hopes into prayer. Feeling more at peace, she continued to eat her meal.

   She did not have to wait long. She was completing her hasty meal when a large man, wrapped in the Campbell plaid, walked through the door. He was a young man, certainly not the old Laird Campbell, but he held a definite resemblance to the laird. His sandy brown hair was cropped to the level of his square jaw, and he stared at her intently with sharp green eyes. He planted his feet in a wide stance and folded his muscular arms across his chest. His mistrust for her was apparent.

   "Give me yer message, lad," he commanded.

   "David?" Aila gasped. She remembered him from childhood, the first son of Laird Campbell, and his heir. He had certainly grown up well.

   David walked over and grabbed her shoulder, giving it a firm shake. "By what right do ye name me, boy? Who are ye?" Danger flashed in his eyes.

   "'Tis I, Aila. Graham's daughter," said Aila meekly in the face of such a fearsome scowl and removed her hood.

   David released her immediately. "Aila? What are ye doing here?"

   "We are in need of the Campbell's assistance. We are under attack, and I am afeared it will be a siege."

   David frowned, the action causing deep lines to spread across his forehead, surprising in such a young man, but the heir of the Campbell would never have been just another young man. "And why does the Graham send his only daughter thus, unguarded, to seek our support?"

   "My father dinna send me. I came because I learned of the danger only early this morn and thought it would be better to come directly to request help than return to Dundaff."

   David crossed his arms in front of him. "Ye were out riding alone?"

   "Nay, I was wi' my husband, the MacLaren."

   "MacLaren?" David's eyebrows shot up.

   "Aye. He returned to Dundaff, and I came here. I did have a guard but lost him along the way. Please, we've no time for this. The McNab and his allies ride against us."

   David frowned again. "McNab? What danger can he pose to ye? And what allies do ye speak of? I ken none who count themselves a friend to McNab."

   Aila drew in a breath, hesitating. If she told him about the French soldiers, he might think her daft. The look he was giving her was already close to that.

   
Voluntas regum labia iusta qui recta loquitur diligetur.

   Aila took a calming breath.
Kings take pleasure in
honest lips; they value a man who speaks the truth.
The proverb reminded her to speak the truth, and that is what she would do.

   "McNab has joined wi' hundreds o' French knights, all armored and mounted. If I'd no' seen it wi' my own eyes, I'd no' believed it myself."

   David slowly nodded. "I've had multiple reports of large numbers of French soldiers scouring the country side, looking for yer MacLaren, if the reports are true."

   "MacLaren? Why?" Aila asked, though she knew David Campbell would have no answer.

   "Something is verra amiss, Lady Aila. We will come to the aid of Graham, for indeed I fear what would happen to Hamish if I do not. And I dinna like foreigners making war on the Highlands, even if they have been our allies. I winna take it from the English, and I winna take it from the French, either."

   "Thank ye, David." Aila tingled with excitement. She had done it. She had really done it. "Now I must take my leave."

   "Are ye daft? I'll no' have ye riding all the way back to Dundaff by yerself. My father, yer father, and yer new husband would have to cast lots to see who got the privilege of skinning me alive."

   "I'm only returning to Creag an Turic. I have a guard there to take me to St. Margaret's."

   "Well, now. That sounds a bit better. I'll have a room prepared, and ye can leave in the morn."

   "Nay, my escort is waiting," Aila said, edging toward the door. "He'll be most distressed if I dinna return."

   "I'll send ye wi' an escort to Balquidder, if ye wish it. Though I beg ye to reconsider. 'Tis near dark, and I fear ye may come to harm."

   Aila smiled sweetly, saying, "Thank ye for yer kind ness. I'll be riding hard back to Creag an Turic, but I welcome anyone who can keep pace." She curtseyed and left the room. She was given access to the stables and allowed to choose a fresh mount. She hated to leave Shadow behind, but he had been ridden hard and fast and needed to rest. He would be safe with the Campbells until he could be returned. Aila allowed her new escort to guide her out of the castle then broke for home. She had chosen a fast horse and felt comfortable riding in the dark. Behind her, the men called for her to pull up. She smiled and gave her mount full rein.

MACLAREN SAT IN GRAHAM'S STUDY, LISTENING TO him rage. Since the news of Aila's latest adventure from the castle was likely to cause this reaction, MacLaren had waited until after they had made preparations to meet the onslaught of knights before telling the laird his daughter was once again not where she ought to be. MacLaren calmly sipped his whiskey, paying little attention to Graham's tirade, first at Aila for sneaking away, then at MacLaren for not immediately bringing her back.

   MacLaren's mind was focused on the enemy now surrounding their outer walls. They had been right to assume McNab and his French friends would attempt to besiege the castle. Fortunately, Aila's imitation of the Bruce had given the inhabitants of Dundaff a few precious hours to prepare, since McNab's men were forced to go the long way around the forest.

   The burghers were brought into the castle along with every scrap of food available. The crops were not in, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. At least they had reasonable provisions for the near future. Hoardings, the wooden frame work that encased the battlements, had been swiftly built. MacLaren was impressed at how quickly and efficiently Graham's men accomplished such a goal. Graham may be full of bluster, but he was well prepared. Warwick had suggested throwing nasty little caltrops in the grounds around the castle, metal spikes that hid in the grasses and hobbled a man if he trod on them, but MacLaren advised against it. If the Campbells were to come to their aid, he did not want their feet skewered.

   Thinking of the Campbells reminded him of Aila. While he was glad she was not to be imprisoned in the castle during a siege, still, he worried about her safety. He hoped Chaumont would be able to keep her safe and their mission to the Campbells would be successful. He had every confidence Chaumont would protect her with his life, but the thought of something happening to his wife filled him with dread.

   MacLaren said another silent prayer for her protec tion that joined the others as it floated aloft. He had prayed more since letting Aila go this early morn than the whole of the past year. He hoped he had made the right decision. Nothing but her safety seemed to matter. He smiled when thinking about her this morning, beautiful even when dressed in an old grey cloak, her face flushed, that wild look in her eyes. She was the most attractive ghost he'd ever seen.

   "Riders!" The call came from the tower. MacLaren and Graham were on their feet and moving before the ghillie could arrive and give them the official news. MacLaren bounded up the circular stairs to the watchtower, with Graham not much farther behind, cursing his injured leg. The sight before them was impressive, or it would have been if it had not been so dreadful. McNab and his little band of ruffians were in front, insignificant if it were not for what was behind them. The Golden Knight, gleaming in the midday sun, appeared undeniably formidable, with hundreds of knights, mounted and armored, behind him. McNab and the Golden Knight, with their seconds, rode forward to make their demands.

   "Laird Graham of Dundaff," cried the appointed spokesman for the Golden Knight. "Surrender now, and you and your people will be treated fairly. We have no quarrel with you. We come for the knave, Padyn MacLaren. Throw him out, dead or alive, and we shall leave you in peace."

   Graham turned to MacLaren. "What have ye done to incur the wrath o' this powerful knight?"

   "I dinna ken," MacLaren answered truthfully. "I canna explain it. I fought for his cause for five years in France, but we ne'er met that I ken."

   "Who is he?"

   "I dinna ken that either. I've only heard o' him at the tourneys. It's assumed he is a great noble and dons this armor to remain anonymous against his foes. What he is doing here and what grievance he has against me I canna say."

   "Are the vats of hot oil ready?" Graham asked Warwick.

   "Not yet," was the grumbling reply.

   "Pity," said Graham and then spoke in his booming voice to the army outside his walls. "Sir Padyn MacLaren fought for the defense o' France for five years, and this is how she repays her faithful servants? Get thee gone, ye bastards, or face the wrath o' Graham."

   McNab and the French knight turned and rode back to their lines without further discussion. MacLaren and Graham watched as the well-trained French knights made camp and began their preparations to lay siege to the castle. Graham shook his head.

   "I ne'er thought I'd see the like," said Graham with a sigh. "Soldiers at my walls. This castle has ne'er been besieged, and I ne'er thought it would. I've seen many a battle, but ne'er have I fought to defend my own keep."

   "The Campbells will come," said MacLaren, speaking with more assurance than he felt.

   "Good that Aila no' be here now," said Graham, as if it had been his clever planning that had removed her to the convent prior to being entrapped by the siege.

   MacLaren nodded, his thoughts turning once again to his bride. Despite the danger, he missed her pres ence and wished she was here with him. MacLaren shook his head. What on earth was he thinking? Miss her? He needed to attend to their current troubles. A man did not pine for his own wife.