The Scot's Spy Page 10

  He wasn’t there but walking the length of her hall calmed her beating heart. She stirred the embers and tossed a couple of logs into the hearth, then leaned her head against the mantel, letting the tears fall. The dream had felt so real, as if she were watching Alasdair fade away in front of her.

  She chided herself for her foolishness. It was difficult being away from him, that was all. Everything would be fine once he returned home.

  She fell into Alasdair’s favorite chair, covered herself with his favorite Grant plaid, one made for him by his beloved grandmother, and fell fast asleep.

  But first she prayed there was no truth to her nightmare.

  Chapter Ten

  The group gathered near the horses before they split up. Joya’s belly turned queasy every time she glanced down at the blood still drenching Alasdair’s leg. Although Alasdair had not treated the wound very seriously, she was inclined to agree with Dyna.

  Els said, “Get him home quickly and sew him up. I’d suggest doing it here, but there’s no way to clean it and I fear there may be more English about. You can be back at MacLintock Castle in two hours.”

  Dyna glared at Derric. “I don’t know who set the ambush up, but we surely did exactly what they’d hoped. Who told you about the English?”

  “A Scottish sheriff. ’Tis all I know. Look, just move on before you start swinging again, wee lassie.”

  Dyna narrowed her gaze and clenched her fists at her side.

  Derric held his hands up. “My, but you are a sensitive one, are you not? Try not to be so serious all the time. You might enjoy your life a wee bit more. And stop being so suspicious. I did not set my men up for an ambush, or did you forget we were there with you?”

  Aye, Dyna was definitely going to punch him if Joya didn’t intervene.

  “Dyna,” she said, stepping between the two. “Derric may have faults, but he would not have set us up. His two friends were seriously injured. In fact,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at them, “I don’t think the one looks hale enough to go to Ayr. But for certes ’twas not my brother’s fault.”

  “Mayhap not, but…”

  Alasdair interrupted her quickly. “’Tis time to take our leave, Dyna, not stand about talking. ’Tis done. We move on.” He double-folded a plaid and tied it around his wounded leg, hoping it was enough pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “Joya, if I were you, I’d be glad to be rid of him, brother or not. And if you weren’t her brother, one of my arrows would have landed in your flesh,” Dyna said, mounting her horse. “Els, we’re taking five guards, including the one who needs tending. There are five to leave with you. Whoever makes it back will return with me on the morrow. Where will you be?”

  “We’re heading straight to Ayr,” Joya said. “I know some safe houses in the royal burgh. Even with all the English about, I think we’ve a good chance of finding him in the area. The Bruce likes Ayr—’tis not far from his homeland that he knows so well. He’ll have to hide, so best to know the terrain you’re hiding in.”

  “Where can we meet?” Alasdair asked.

  Joya said, “There’s an inn in Doongait. We’ll stay there for three nights. I’ll make sure to keep watch at dusk each night. If you must get a message to us, do it there.”

  Dyna helped Alasdair get settled on his horse. “’Tis a good thing we can make MacLintock Castle before dark. Can you stay upright until then?”

  Alasdair said, “I’ll be fine.”

  Dyna handed him a skin full of water. “Here. Keep drinking. ’Tis what Auntie Jennie always says.”

  He took a large swallow and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Time to go. I’m weakening.”

  “Drink more,” Dyna barked before she mounted her own horse.

  “Dyna, take good care of him,” she said, her words feeling hollow, but she had to say something. When she was young, her parents had taught her about prayer. She’d done it little since leaving home, but for some odd reason she felt compelled to do so now.

  Haunting memories of her empty cottage after the attack on their village swept through her, chilling her to the bone. How could a king be so vicious? What had the Scots done to King Edward to deserve such brutal treatment? As Alasdair and Dyna rode off, she said a quick prayer that he would always be there for his sweet bairns.

  She gazed up at her tall, handsome brother then, suddenly overcome with the wish that he would stay safe in battle, too.

  Even if he could not find it in his heart to love her, she loved him.

  “Derric, where will you go?”

  Derric glanced at his four surviving men and said, “We’ll travel to Ayr with you, make sure we aren’t ambushed again. Then we’ll go our separate ways. I’m heading straight to the forests, south toward Bruce’s homeland. I suspect there’ll be plenty of Scots there.”

  Joya glanced at Els. “I know I first asked you to help me find my brother, and you’ve done so. If you wish to leave me once I make it to Ayr, I’ll accept it. What say you?”

  Els mounted his horse and pointed to hers. “’Tis time to go. I don’t like slowing our journey. There are too many out looking for trouble. Long live King Robert.”

  “Are you sure you wish to join me all the way?”

  Els winked at her and said, “You’ll not get rid of me any time soon. Lead on, sweetling.”

  Joya felt that strange fluttering in her belly again, just from a wink.

  She hoped someday to see what Els was like as a lover. She grinned, thinking of her big, bullish man sharing her bed, wrapping her in his heat. She bet he was the type to never let go. While she no longer had her maidenhead, she chose her men carefully. She’d learned long ago how to stop a man who wished to overpower her, and she wasn’t afraid to do it.

  But Els was different, so different she wasn’t sure how to handle him. When was the last time a man had caused her to have butterflies in her belly just by looking at her? How she hoped she’d have the opportunity to entice Els into her bed. She would wager he would prove to be an attentive lover.

  Derric and his men led the way, the Grant guards behind them. Els held back for some reason. She wondered why, but she didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  “I see that sweet smile on your face and I wish to say one thing.”

  “What?” she asked, puzzled.

  “I was wondering the exact same thing about you.”

  And then he winked again.

  ***

  Emmalin struggled to keep her eyes open the next morn. Still worried about Alasdair, she had to feed wee Ailith and tend to John, who had continued to brandish his wooden sword whenever anyone dared to step foot inside the keep.

  Bessie came flying down the staircase, and John had jumped out of his hiding spot. “I fight you, Bethie.”

  Bessie squealed and nearly fell down the remaining steps. Once Emmalin made sure she was all right, she whirled around and said, “John Alexander Grant, take yourself outside into the courtyard before you scare someone into a dead faint. And take your sword with you, please.” She settled Ailith into the cradle near the hearth and then ushered the lad outside.

  “John’s to practice with his sword out here. Please keep an eye on him, if you will,” she called out.

  A few people gave her nods and smiles. They often allowed John to play outside when there were enough people about to watch him. He was accustomed to playing in the courtyard since he was well away from the gates. Clan members bustled about, entertained by the wee lad.

  She turned around to go back inside and almost ran directly into Besseta. “Oh, Bessie, what’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. John didn’t scare you as badly as that, did he?”

  “Something is happening outside the gates. I could hear the ruckus from abovestairs. Mayhap Alasdair is home.”

  She gripped her dear maid’s hands and said, “Many thanks to you, Bessie. I hope you’re right.”

  Emmalin picked up her skirts and hurried toward the gates, glancing over h
er shoulder at John, who was busy brandishing his sword at the smithy. She wasn’t worried. Her clanmates always took good care of one another, especially the wee bairns.

  When she reached the gates, the ruckus faded into a hush. Faces turned toward her before quickly turning away. The only one who stood out to her was her second, so she called out to him. “Gaufried? What is happening?”

  The gate opened and one of the sheriffs she’d seen before came inside with three other men, all on horseback. The sheriff dismounted and moved to stand in front of her. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your husband was found dead on our travels from Glasgow. He and a female with white blonde hair were discovered off the side of the main path, both dead.”

  Emmalin’s hand went to her throat as she sucked in air, trying to absorb what she’d just heard. It couldn’t be. There was no way this could have happened. He had to be wrong. “Alasdair? Are you sure? Who are you? How do you know this?”

  Her clanmates stirred around her, the news passing from one to the next, some women screaming and sobbing as soon as they heard. Although Emmalin’s first husband had been little loved, the news of his death more of a relief than a cause for sadness, Alasdair was adored by their clan.

  The sheriff said, “Alasdair suffered a leg wound, though I know not how. He had a bandage around his leg with large amounts of blood drenching his clothing. No guards were with him, and we are unsure what caused the death of the female. If you would like, I’ll take my men back to bring the two bodies here. They are less than an hour away.”

  Everything happened at once. Tears coursed down her cheeks, men shuffled all around her, people shrieked. “Naaaaaay!” She wondered who had squealed so, but then realized it was her.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Emmalin awakened, she was seated on a bench in the courtyard, Bessie at her side with a cool cloth pressed to her forehead. She remembered now.

  Alasdair and Dyna were dead. The sheriff was leading some men to bring their bodies home. What could have happened? Joya and Els had been with them, plus ten guards, but there’d been no sign of any of the others.

  All of a sudden, she sat up. Where was John?

  “Bessie, where’s John?”

  Bessie stood up so fast, she nearly fell over. “I don’t know. The last I saw him, he was with the smithy, swinging his sword. I’m sure he’s here somewhere. He’s a normal rambunctious lad who took off in the chaos.”

  Forcing herself to her feet, she called out, “John? John Alexander Grant. Where are you? Come to Mama right this minute.”

  Nothing. A sick feeling traveled from her toes, through her gut, and up to her neck. “Bessie, go check on Ailith.”

  “Right away.” Bessie hurried off toward the keep, and Emmalin continued to search for her son, heading to the smithy’s hut first. Chaos reigned everywhere, people sobbing and shouting and talking. But there was no sign of her wee lad.

  “John? Where is John?” She had the sudden need to scream and stood in the middle of the courtyard and yelled, “Stop! Everyone stop what you’re doing.”

  All her clanmates stopped to listen to her. “My son. Where is John? You must help me find him.”

  A woman said, “The last I saw him, he was following you to the gates, my lady.”

  “Oh, dear God in heaven, nay.” She ran toward the gates, shouting to the guards on the curtain wall. “Where’s John? Where’s my lad?”

  “I haven’t seen him, my lady. If he tried to run out of the gates, we surely would have stopped him. He’s not out here. Perhaps he went back inside the keep.”

  Emmalin pivoted in a circle, looking in every possible direction, tears flooding her cheek as she finally gave in to all that had happened. Alasdair was dead and her son was missing.

  She wailed in front of her curtain wall, unable to see because her vision was blurred from the tears. A group of horses returned and she guessed they had to be the ones who’d been sent out to retrieve Alasdair’s body. One of them called out to her, and she cut herself off with a gasp. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her because the voice that had called out to her sounded exactly like her husband.

  She swiped the tears from her eyes as the lead horse drew closer to her.

  “Emmalin? What’s wrong?”

  “Alasdair? Alasdair? Is it truly you?” She’d lost her mind. That had to be it. She was so distraught that she was imagining things. Behind him came Dyna and five Grant guards, one of them injured. Her husband dismounted slowly and headed toward her, his gait hitching. He did indeed have an injured leg.

  “They said you were dead.”

  She ran to him, launching herself into his open arms and clinging to him, sobbing. Someone behind her explained for her, “My lord, a sheriff was just here and said you and Dyna had both been found dead. He offered to retrieve your bodies.”

  She stepped back and Alasdair cupped her face. “I’m fine, although I have a leg wound for Dyna to sew. Who told you I was dead?”

  Then it all made sense.

  Someone had caused this chaos to steal their son.

  She gripped Alasdair’s upper arms and cried, “John. He’s missing. He came out behind me and disappeared. We cannot find him anywhere. Oh, Alasdair.”

  Dyna had dismounted her horse, too, and she came up behind them. “The bastards ripped out everyone’s hearts so the place would be in chaos. Then they swooped in and stole the lad away.”

  Bessie came out with Ailith in her arms, sound asleep. “She’s here, my lady. Did you find John? Oh my heavens. Alasdair? You live?”

  Somehow Bessie managed to stay upright through the shock of everything, and she looked at Emmalin, her quick mind reading into the situation. “Someone lied about Alasdair so they could easily steal John.”

  “Mayhap not,” Alasdair said, although she could tell he was struggling to stay positive. “I’ll have the men search every nook in the castle. ’Tis still possible he’s hiding somewhere. You know how he loves that game.”

  Emmalin didn’t need to do anything. Her clanmates divided themselves up and began the search, while she wrapped her arms around her husband and walked inside with him. “Dyna, you must sew him up quickly. If we can’t find John, you both will have to go out and find him.”

  Dyna shook her head.

  Emmalin stared at her, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

  “Not without a plan. I’ll sew Alasdair’s leg, use the salve to prevent the fever, and bandage him up well. He needs to eat so he’ll keep his strength. I rode behind him. I know of what I speak. Unless you wish for the tales of his death to be true, you’ll listen to me. He cannot leave in his present shape. I’ll also add that Grandsire’s wisdom has not let us down yet, and he’s always said ’tis madness to commit to a large attack without a plan. You must know where your allies are and find a way to call upon all of them.”

  Emmalin peered up at her husband, her dear husband whom she’d thought she’d lost. With his help, they could get through anything. But they couldn’t wait, could they?

  She brushed her finger down his jawline, just then noticing how pale he looked, how he gritted his teeth from the pain.

  “She’s right, Em,” he explained, cupping her cheek, although she could tell it pained him to admit it. “Gaufried and our men will search the immediate area for clues as to where they went, but then we must make a plan. Don’t worry. Els is a great tracker so we’ll send a message to him, and if need be, I have plenty of cousins I can appeal to for help, but we must decide where to go first. Tell me more about the sheriff.”

  She clung to his tunic and set her hand on his shoulder. “We must find him, Alasdair.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The sheriff stepped inside the small hut behind his two men, one carrying a good-sized sack.

  One that was moving.

  “Open the bag, give the lad some air, Oddo,” the sheriff said.

  Oddo set the bag on a pallet and the wee lad tumbled out, his wooden sword held tigh
t in his hands. He jumped to his feet and said, “I fight. I Aleshander Grant.”

  Hemett, the oldest of the three, chuckled and said, “There, see Sheriff, we have someone named Alexander Grant. He’s a feisty one.”

  “Well, settle in. You can give each other breaks here and there to run out for food, but otherwise you both have to stay here with him.”

  “When do we get paid?” Oddo asked.

  “When I get paid, you’ll get paid. If we make any mistakes, none of us will get paid, so make sure you don’t let him out of your sight, and whatever you do, don’t hurt him or we’ll have nothing to bargain with.”

  “You Engwish?” John asked.

  “Aye, we’re English. What have you to say on that, wee laddie?” Oddo asked, grinning.

  John strode over to stand in front of him and spit on the dirt floor. Then said, “Engwish.”

  Hemett raised his hand to slap the lad but the sheriff stopped him. “I told you not to touch him. I think you can handle being teased by a wee bairn or will it be too much for you? All you need to do is feed him and keep him here. Four days and we’ll have our coin.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Oddo asked.

  “We’re waiting for the real Alexander Grant. His grandfather or great-grandfather. Whatever he is. We want the one who built the largest army of Highland savages. If I bring that bastard to King Edward, we’ll be paid well.”

  John stepped forward and swung his wooden sword, catching Hemett square on his shin.

  “Ow, you wee bastard.”

  “I Aleshander Grant.”

  The sheriff chuckled at Hemett and said, “How I wish he was the real Alexander Grant.”

  “The big Grant won’t be alive for long. King Edward wants him dead.”

  ***

  Els and Joya arrived in Ayr just before nightfall. Derric joined them at the inn in Doongait for the evening meal.

  “’Tis the last you’ll see of me, lass, until our paths cross again. I’d prefer to spend my nights looking up at the stars,” Derric said, chewing on a piece of dark bread. “We’ll stand with the Bruce’s men when we find them. What about you?”