The Scot's Spy (Highland Swords Book 2) Page 13

  “He’ll be here,” Alasdair said solemnly. “You can believe that. I plan to go in his stead. I’ll kill the bastard for touching my son. The message was brought by one of the sheriffs, but Emmalin didn’t know which one.”

  Joya stood up from her chair and announced, “Do not worry. Els and I will find your son, or at least where he’s being kept.”

  Dyna stopped pacing, her gaze on Joya. “How can you be so sure?”

  “We already learned that there are more than a thousand Englishmen combing through all of Ayrshire in search of Robert the Bruce. We heard he is near Glen Trool, and the English plan to sneak over soon to attack. The men we encountered said they’d been promised coin for King Robert. My guess is they’ve been promised the same for Alex Grant. Everyone knows he’s a symbol of pride and freedom to the Scots, and besides, your clan has the largest army who could come to King Roberts’ aid. The English are worried. They won’t hurt John—he’s too important—but I’ll find out where they’re keeping him.”

  Els nodded intently, and she felt the full force of his belief in her. “You return on the morrow to MacLintock Castle, Dair. Emmalin needs you. We’ll find out where they are keeping him. If we can get him out, we will, but if he is heavily guarded, we’ll wait for your assistance.”

  Joya said, “’Tis a promise.” This was her chance to prove her value, to prove to her brother that he was wrong. She wasn’t a whore.

  She’d show everyone exactly how useful she could be.

  ***

  Later that eve, Els asked Alasdair to follow him down to the hall for some ale. He was eager for a word alone with his cousin, but he’d been hesitant to leave Joya alone. News of the kidnapping had shaken her badly. But now that she and Dyna were chatting quietly by the hearth, he saw an opportunity.

  “Aye,” Alasdair said. “I need to move about.”

  On his way to the door, Els leaned over and kissed Joya’s forehead. “We’ll return shortly. Would you like anything?”

  She shook her head, but her eyes looked just as troubled as they had earlier.

  “How are you managing?” he asked Alasdair once they stepped into the passageway.

  “I’m not. I’ve never felt so powerless. I wanted to come here in the hopes you could help us search for him, but I also wish to be home for fear they’ll return for my wife, my daughter. Or send a message. Or mayhap I should be protecting Grandsire.”

  “Grandsire has plenty of help,” he said, clasping his cousin’s shoulder. “You’re needed at your keep. Joya is verra good at what she does. I have faith she’ll be able to uncover something. We’ll start first thing in the morning.” They each grabbed an ale and sat at a table, the only ones in the dining hall. Els stared at his goblet, thinking of how to best form his next question.

  “What is it that has you so worried?” Alasdair asked.

  He shrugged. “I still worry about what will happen when I need to use my sword. I want to ask you…nay, I need to. How did you get past your own fears? I know the battle at Brechin Castle stayed with you, too. I’m afraid I’ll not be strong enough to protect Joya. She knows what she’s doing, but she is only one person. She needs me now more than ever.”

  Alasdair stared at the torches on the wall, lost in thought. “’Tis an odd thing, but ever since I met Emmalin, those fears have gone away. It’s not because I did anything in particular to get past them. When John was born, I wondered if I would be strong enough to protect him, and then came Ailith. I put all my efforts into building a strong set of warriors to keep my wife and family safe. Yet it didn’t work. As for that battle? I never think on it anymore. I’m too busy thinking on my family. Usually good thoughts, but not this time.” He downed a long swig of ale.

  “We’ll get him back, Dair.” Els twirled his goblet on the table.

  “I believe we will. I have to. But don’t worry about things you cannot change. Focus on Joya. She’s a wonderful person and she’ll pull you out of those thoughts. If you allow it to happen, she’ll pull you into something better than you could have believed possible. I didn’t think I could ever be this happy. But I am, and I have to believe ’tis something we’ll get past with the support of our clan.”

  “You’re right. We will. Grandsire will bring all the Grant forces he can to save wee John. We all know it.”

  Alasdair stared at his hands for a moment before lifting his face to his cousin. “We will. And although we haven’t spoken on it, I know the spectral swords will return to help us this time. I believe it.” He stared into the liquid in his goblet, then said, “My parents are watching over John. They’ll lead one of us to him. Of that much, I’m certain.”

  ***

  Joya walked down the path toward the forests the next morning. She’d been motivated to help Robert before, but the news about John had lit a new fire inside her.

  They’d stolen an innocent bairn. How could they be so malicious, so spiteful and callous? She would not let up until she found the bastards who’d kidnapped wee John. If she were to guess, they had the lad sound asleep somewhere in a hut near the forest.

  Where the English were said to be.

  She and Els had traveled the outskirts of the entire royal burgh, near the castle, away from it, looking for any sign of a hidden bairn and listening for any mention of one. Although there was no talk that would lead them to Els’s nephew, there was plenty of gossip about the growing force of Scots hoping to join Bruce, and English hoping to kill him. The English were said to be close to two thousand in number, spread all over the land.

  But the Bruce and his followers had gone into the rough terrain and disappeared, something easily done given they knew the land and the English did not.

  Joya had told Els he needed to let her take the lead, and he’d agreed. She had to get inside the English camp, learn what they knew about Bruce and John.

  Her plan was to flirt with the right Englishmen and get him to take her to the camp, but it proved unnecessary.

  They came to her. She was strolling down the path alone, trying to find a mark—Els following at a distance in the woods—when she noticed she was being followed. Rather than turn around to see who it was or how many, she continued on as if oblivious. Within a quarter hour, she was lifted up by a man, tossed over his shoulder, and carried off at a fast pace. Ten other Englishman fell in around him.

  She hoped Els would stand down. Surely she was being taken exactly where she’d wanted to go: the middle of the camp. Her heart pounded as she bounced on the shoulder of her captive, and she swung her fists into his back in a light display of being unaccepting of her fate.

  She’d save her real fighting for when it was necessary.

  They traveled for longer than she’d expected, though she truly had no way of measuring distance, until her captor finally dropped her in a heap in front of a huge tent in the middle of the forest. “My lord, we’ve found a woman for you, just as you requested.”

  A man emerged from the tent, a wide smile on his face, and said, “She’s a comely one.” He held his hand down to help her to her feet and asked, “English or Scottish?”

  “My mother is Scottish, my father English. We support King Edward,” she spoke with a small voice in her Scottish burr, knowing what was expected of a lass in her situation.

  “My lord, she’s exactly what we need,” said the man who’d carried her. He looked to be an assistant of some kind now that she could see him properly. Her gaze shifted back to the man from the tent.

  A man came up behind her and struck the back of her head. “Do not stare at the Earl of Pembroke. Keep your eyes on the ground, remind you of where you belong, on your back servicing men.”

  The earl stared at the man and said, “Shut up, you ignorant fool.” Then he reached for her cheek, turned it to one side and then the other before stepping back. “You’ll do quite nicely. Now here’s the situation, my dear. Think on it carefully before you answer.” He walked a distance away from her and stared into the treetops, tapping his
foot on the root of a tree.

  He placed his hands behind his back and said, “You will dress in rags and go to the Scots’ camp in Glen Trool. You are to beg for food scraps, and while you wait for the bastards to bring you sustenance, you are to assess the number of Scots available to fight and scan the area to see what weaponry they have. I need as many details as possible before we attack. You will go closer to the evening meal so there will be scraps for you to look for. Do you agree?”

  “I’m a loyal subject to the king, but why would I wish to risk my life? If I’m discovered, they’ll kill me,” she said, lifting her chin to stare at the bastard in front of her.

  “Because if you don’t,” the earl said. “I’ll have you killed, but I’ll allow my men to take what they wish from you first. I’m sure fifty men using you will kill you, so I won’t have to do the wicked deed. It’s your choice. You have a few minutes to decide.”

  Joya couldn’t have asked for a more perfect opportunity. In fact, it was difficult for her to keep from smiling. “You will show me exactly where to go?”

  “My men will take you as close as possible to their camp. You’ll have no trouble. We will find you different clothing to wear before we take you. Do you agree?”

  “I don’t think you gave me any choice,” she said, begrudgingly, hoping they believed her lies. “I agree.”

  “Good. Rollo, find her something to wear,” he said to his assistant. “I shall return in two hours and we’ll start moving that way. I’m tired of waiting.”

  The earl left, seeming thoroughly pleased with himself, and Rollo motioned for her to follow him. They traveled toward a row of huts at the end of the camp, and he led her to the one at the far end. Once inside, he brought her to a chest and pulled out various old garments, none smelling very sweetly. She pawed through them, looking for the one least likely to offend her sense of smell, and found an ugly old wool gown at the bottom. It had a few moth-eaten holes in it, but it would suit because it wasn’t giving off an offensive odor. There was a partition at the back, so she moved behind it and changed her clothing, leaving her garments hanging over the barrier where they would be visible to anyone entering.

  She’d just finished dressing when the door burst open, and an odd-looking man stood in the opening. “They say you have a woman here.”

  Rollo said, “I do, but she’s here under the earl’s instructions, so no one else is to touch her.”

  “I won’t touch her, but I need a woman for something.”

  “If it’s to feed your vulgar needs, Oddo, the answer is we will not allow her to go with you.”

  “It’s about helping someone with a wound. May we borrow her for a few moments?”

  Joya’s belly went into spasms. At first, she’d had high hopes he might be looking for a woman to tend a bairn, but then he’d said wound, and she absolutely didn’t want to find John with a bad wound. She said nothing because it was truly up to Rollo, not Oddo.

  “Fine. You may borrow her for a quarter hour, but no inappropriate behavior. She has important duties for the earl.”

  “Agreed,” Oddo said, waving for her to follow him.

  Rollo said, “I’ll await you here.”

  She followed Oddo into a hut two doors down, and as soon as they opened the door, her heart soared with hope. All she could smell was a bairn’s raggies. In fact, the smell was so powerful she wrinkled her nose.

  Oddo pointed to the bed in the corner and said, “Clean him up. His smell is making me ill.”

  There on the bed sat a beautiful sight. John sat playing with his sword, his eyes opening and closing as if he fought to stay awake. She hurried to his side and gave instructions to Oddo. “Bring me clean water, a few linen squares, and a new rag,” she said, removing the old one, rolling it, and handing it to the fool. “And take this one outside.”

  “You’ll not be giving me orders, missy.”

  “Do what I say or it will smell worse in here.”

  Her reasoning worked because even though he grumbled all the way out the door, he left—which was exactly the opening she needed to talk to the lad.

  “John, do you remember how to hide?”

  The beautiful lad smiled at her. “Where’s Papa? I want Mama.”

  “I know, sweetling. I’ll bring them back to you, but you must promise me to hide when the bad men scare you or if they start fighting. Remember to be really quiet when you’re hiding, but you can jump out at Papa or Uncle Els when they come near you.”

  John nodded and giggled. “I hide on Papa and Uncle Els.”

  The man returned so she didn’t say anything else, just cleaned the boy up to the best of her abilities and put a new rag on him. Then she set him back on the pillow and gave him a quick kiss. He closed his eyes and let out a wee sigh, holding his sword with both hands.

  “Did you give him a potion?” she asked. Then she decided to push a little harder. “And why would you hold a wee bairn like this? He’s no threat.”

  “The king don’t want him. We’re using him for a trade that’s none of your concern.”

  “I hope you have not hurt him. He’s blameless and harmless in this.” She gave him her most innocent look, hoping it would pacify him.

  “He’s not hurt. We had to give him something to keep him from yelling all the time. Pembroke don’t like the noise.”

  She left, knowing she had no choice in the matter, but at least she knew where he was being kept. She’d go to Glen Trool, tell Robert everything she knew about the English, and then find her way back inside the camp to watch over John until Alex Grant came. Els would surely understand that.

  She’d protect the boy no matter what, and she didn’t care if Derric ever learned how she’d helped. She would do this for that beautiful lad inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Joya stood at the edge of Loch Trool, glad to finally be free of the Earl of Pembroke. He and Rollo had led her to a spot at the edge of the forest where they suspected Robert and his men camped, woods surrounding a valley full of large boulders. She was under strict instructions to gather as much information as possible and carry it back to them. Did Robert have swordsmen and archers, or were his men the typical Scottish savages carrying axes and clubs? That was how Pembroke had phrased it, and she did her best to lock his terminology and exact instructions into her mind.

  She’d wished to spit on the vulgar fool, but instead she’d held her tongue, telling herself she’d soon be sharing their plans with King Robert himself.

  Els would not be far, she knew that, but she couldn’t attempt to communicate with him. The English were watching her every move. Sweat gathered at her brow and under her arms, and she prayed the trembling would stop.

  Best to move along and hope the action would calm her roiling emotions. She would do this for the wee lad inside the hut, to get him far away from the odorous men watching him, and probably ill-treating him. While the thought of the lad being drugged didn’t settle well in her belly, she hoped it would keep him from harm.

  Wee John was a busy lad when he was at his best. She had to quell a small smile at the memory of those sweet bairns.

  Move on, Joya.

  Shuffling her feet like a beggar in case she was being watched, she made her way into the forest, trudging along with her head down, her shawl over her hair, and continued her journey in the hopes she was indeed heading in the right direction.

  When she was deep in the middle of the forest, she heard the shifting of feet and multiple bodies.

  All aimed toward her.

  She stopped and waited until they showed themselves.

  And they did.

  Now well hidden from the English, she stood up straight and dropped the shawl from her hair. The first man who approached her said, “Why are you here? Begone with you. You don’t belong in the forest with us.”

  “I’m here to see King Robert,” she said. “I have information for him.” Her voice strong and clear, she wished to impart on the group that she was not th
e peasant in rags she appeared to be.

  The man in front of her chuckled, showing his white teeth, more noticeable since he’d covered his face with clumps of dark mud or some other substance to hide his identity and stay hidden among the trees. “No King Robert here, wench. Take yourself away.”

  From behind him, a voice she recognized called out, “Joya? Is that you? What in heavens are you wearing?”

  She’d never been so glad to see anyone. The king himself stepped out of the woods, surrounded by four others.

  “Robert,” she replied, then quickly corrected herself. “Rather, King Robert.”

  “Joya, we’ve known each other for a long time. Please call me Robert. Why are you here, and why in heavens are you dressed in rags? ’Tis not your normal wear, lass.” He smiled at her and her heart melted a wee bit. She’d had strong feelings for him at one time, but gratitude had been foremost among them. Her feelings for Els were stronger.

  “The English took me captive. The Earl of Pembroke sent me to spy on you. I have been ordered to get information on your numbers and your cavalry and return to them. He would have killed me had I refused.”

  He grinned and crossed his arms, and a few more men emerged from the forest to listen to them. “Go on, lass. I know why you’re truly here.” Then he winked at her.

  “The Earl of Pembroke plans to attack shortly after I return. He thinks you’re on the north side of the loch in a valley and will bring his men in that direction. He has over a thousand men, Robert. Have you enough? I didn’t see many on horseback.”

  He leaned over, placed his hands on both sides of her face, and kissed the top of her head. “I knew you were a gift from heaven when I first met you. Thank you, my dear. Make sure you tell him many of my men have been heaving from their bellies and we have no horses. We’ll be waiting for them. You’ve done the Scots a great service this day and I thank you for it.”

  “But do you have enough men?” she asked, chewing on her lower lip.