The Scot's Spy Page 15

  Uncle Jamie pulled Emmalin and Alasdair aside while the others fussed at the hearth and around Ailith. “Alasdair, if you don’t have enough chambers for all of us, you can put Gracie and Kyla in one chamber, but you must give your grandfather a full bed. He needs it. He’s even made it up the staircase more frequently of late, so abovestairs will be fine for him.”

  “Nay,” Emmalin quickly said. “We have plenty of chambers. They often go unused so we have four chambers at the ready. That should be enough, aye?”

  “’Tis plenty. My thanks,” Uncle Jamie said. “Magnus will handle the men outside.”

  Alasdair lowered his voice and leaned in toward his uncle. “Grandsire cannot go. I’ll go in his place, make them think I’m him.”

  To his annoyance, he saw Dyna giving him a knowing look from her position near the hearth.

  Uncle Jamie took a step back and gawped at him. “You’ve forgotten what your grandsire is like? You are all too young to recall anything about Alexander Grant at his best, which saddens me. But I like that you’ll get to see the legend in action soon. You’ll not stop him. Why do you think Kyla and I are here? Because we know our sire. He’s quite stubborn. He said Mama came to him in a dream and told him ’twas time to go, that wee John needed him. We left so quickly that we intercepted two different messengers coming up the mountains. We did what we could to find out who’d hired the messengers, but the villains have hidden themselves well. From the sounds of it, a third party hired the lads in Ayr. They knew only that they were being paid coin to serve the messages.

  “We were on our way before we even knew John had been kidnapped, so you can be sure he’ll do whatever Mama told him to do. He’s going, and you’ll not talk him down. But I will also say he’s been preparing for this. Uncle Connor has had him out every day, and he’s been using a new concoction Aunt Jennie gave him for his knees.”

  “But he’s too old,” Alasdair said, feeling something like panic inside of him. Although he now had a family of his own, and he and Emmalin had a clan of their own, he still felt like he needed his grandsire. “What if…”

  Uncle Jamie clasped his shoulder. “You’re about to see how strong he can be. Do not worry. He’ll get your son back, and we’re here to help you, too. We’ll discuss it after dinner. But your grandsire will be going. Even if we all banded together to stop him, it wouldn’t happen. He’d sneak out and go on his own. Not only is he strong, but he’s also clever. He’s out-strategized the best many times.”

  Alasdair glanced over at his grandfather and was surprised to catch the older man staring back.

  The infamous Alexander Grant, once known as the best swordsman in all of Scotland, winked at him, a small grin on his face.

  ***

  The sheriff came into the cottage, slamming the door behind him, chuckling with glee. “He’s nearly here.”

  Joya sat in the back of the hut with John on her lap. He appeared to be finally awakening from the drug-induced sleep he’d been in for two days. She said nothing, just listened.

  “You haven’t given him any more of the potion, have you?” the sheriff asked.

  “Nay,” replied Hemett, the eldest of the three men involved in the kidnapping. “I gave him the last dose before the evening meal. He should be waking up.”

  As if on cue, John sat straight up and pushed himself off Joya’s lap. He glanced at her and nodded. “I protect you. Engwish.”

  Joya smiled at him. She’d kept his wee sword by the bed, and he leaned down and grabbed it, running over to the sheriff and slapping the flat of the wood against his leg.

  “Don’t do that,” the sheriff said, pointing to him and giving him a stern look. He barked at Joya. “Hold him in the back chamber.”

  John whirled, going after Oddo this time. “I Aleshander Grant.” He swung his small weapon and caught the man right in his bollocks, though the wee lad had no idea the damage he’d done.

  Oddo bellowed, bent at the waist, and grabbed the sword, snapping it in two before he tossed against the far wall. He was so upset that the sheriff fell into the chair, holding onto his belly laughing.

  John chased after the two pieces and took it over to Joya, saying, “Help me. Broke.” His big blue eyes welled with tears.

  “Oh, I don’t know if I can put it back together.” She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Don’t worry. When Grandpapa comes for you, he’ll bring you a new one.” She hoped this lie would pacify him for a few moments.

  How wrong she was.

  Hemett sat down at the table, joining the sheriff, both of them chuckling over Oddo’s predicament. The sheriff leaned back in the chair and laughed, his eyes closed in his glee, paying no mind to his captives. John crept over and grabbed the dagger out of his boot and struck him on the back of his hand, blood spurting out right away.

  The sheriff swung his hand and nearly caught John across the face. “You wee bastard. Look what you’ve done. That’s my fighting hand!”

  Joya got there quickly enough to lift him into the air away from the man’s brutal swing, catching the end of the backswing in her face instead.

  She didn’t make a sound, glad she’d taken the hit instead of John, but then the lad ran back at the sheriff and said, “I Aleshander Grant.”

  Joya feared he’d take a worse beating and she shouted without thinking, “John, nay!”

  Realizing what she’d done, she grabbed the boy and backed up toward the pallet.

  The sheriff had a cloth held against his hand, soaking up the blood on the outside of his hand, but he caught her fatal error. “How the hell do you know his name?”

  Hemett grabbed her from behind, then held her down, the sheriff now taking his anger out on her.

  “You lying bitch! You’re a spy!” he bellowed. “No one knows his true name. No one!”

  “He told me. ’Tis why I know it.”

  “You’re nothing but a lying whore.” His arm swung out to strike her, so she grabbed John and tucked him underneath her, praying the bastard would take his ire out on her and leave the lad alone.

  She didn’t care what happened to her, but she was not going to let them hurt John. She tried her best to stay awake, but the fourth kick did her in.

  A black hole descended on her just after she finished a quick prayer for John and begged him to stay put. The last thing she said to him was, “If you hug me, you’ll save me.”

  John hugged her as tightly as he could.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Els sat atop his horse in a clearing outside of Ayr, waiting for his cousins and the Grant guards. He left twice every hour to look for any sign of their approach and gave a bird call periodically, hoping to be answered, but the wait was exceptionally long. Every minute he spent away from Joya and John felt like an hour. He’d seen the sheriff come to the cottage where they were being kept, but he’d been far enough away that he couldn’t identify him. He hadn’t realized how alike the three representatives of Scottish law looked, especially in the dark.

  Then he heard it, Dyna’s bird call. The Grants had finally arrived. He stepped out of the clearing and made his way toward the main path that headed into the burgh, examining the horizon. To his surprise, he saw his father riding toward him. Beside him rode a man who looked exactly like Grandsire, but his mind was surely playing tricks on him.

  He’d guessed Alasdair would disguise himself to be Grandsire. He had the coloring and the height, so he had to admit it was probably their best chance of getting inside the cottage where John was being held captive.

  They had to get him out.

  Except Els was wrong—as the lead group came closer, becoming easier to identify in the dark, he realized the impossible really had happened. The man who looked like Grandsire was Grandsire. His father and Alick rode on one side of him, Dyna and Alasdair on the other. God’s teeth, but he’d guessed the man behind his sire had to be Uncle Finlay. His eyes surely must be deceiving him.

  Seeing his family like this, accompanied by about a do
zen guards, gave him a strong sense of pride. With these Grants, they’d be successful for sure.

  As they approached, they changed to riding two abreast. He led them back into the clearing where he had a small fire going for warmth, and when they dismounted, he couldn’t contain his first question. “Da? Why are you and grandsire here?”

  “Why?” his father replied. “Because we’re Grants. You’re my son, and I’m here to support you and Joya. Alasdair has filled us in on everything. Grandsire has been practicing and he’s going in after John. Alick and Uncle Finlay are here to help, and your mother and Aunt Kyla are staying back at the castle with Emmalin so she doesn’t have to suffer alone. We left about three score guards there just in case this is some foolish way to go after MacLintock Castle while we’re gone, but we don’t think so.”

  Els turned his disbelief to his grandfather. “Truly, Grandsire?”

  “Stop looking so surprised. I’ve been training to build my strength. At least I know all my hard work with Connor will come in use. The English stoop to a new low of stealing laddies out of their homes.” His gray eyes were as sharp as ever.

  Els had to admit he had a warm feeling deep in his belly just knowing he had all their support. “My thanks to you. I’m glad you’re here. I worry about John and Joya both. There are hundreds of English camping in the forest.”

  His father clasped his shoulder and said, “Remember who your clan is. We haven’t been beaten yet. We have been challenged many times, but we’re quite adept at overcoming adversity.”

  How he hoped they’d be victorious again, for this might be their biggest challenge yet.

  Once they gathered around the fire, Alasdair said, “Tell us what you know.”

  Els assembled his thoughts, still adjusting to all the assistance he hadn’t expected, then said, “I know which hut they’re being kept in. It’s quite isolated, but it has two rooms. One of the sheriffs, though I haven’t determined which one yet, is running the operation. Joya managed to get inside the English camp. She’s been taking care of John, changing his rags and feeding him, while the two scurrilous bastards the sheriff hired watch over them. She says the sheriff will relinquish John to you once Grandsire is in their custody. They will then take him to King Edward to be hanged and quartered for all to see, thus taking out the biggest army of warriors who could be called in to help King Robert. He will be paid well for delivering you to Edward, Grandpapa.”

  Jamie chuckled. “They think killing my father will put an end to the Grants? Edward doesn’t know us at all, does he? We’d fight even harder.”

  Dyna said, “He must feel ’twould be enough of a statement to risk many of his men to accomplish the foul deed. My guess is he believes if he takes out the great Alexander Grant, no one else will dare stand against him.”

  Els got a wide grin on his face. “How wrong he is. We shall prove who is the strongest. I know whose side I wish to be on if it comes down to a battle between the Grant lairds and King Edward.”

  Grandsire smiled. “We shall see if the hedgeborn English scoundrel can handle me.” He pulled his sword out of the sheath given to him by his father, embedded with gemstones, and stood back to heft it up over his head. “John, Seanair is coming for you.”

  Els looked at Alasdair and said, “Seanair?”

  Alasdair sighed as Uncle Finlay grinned at their grandsire. “John can’t say grandpapa or great-grandsire. Seanair is Gaelic for grandfather. He says it like shennar. He likes it because it sounds like Aleshander Grant, his idol. But I must ask, Els—you have spoken with Joya? You know she has seen John and he is hale?”

  Els nodded, and then explained what had happened at Glen Trool, telling them how Joya’s cunning had allowed the Scots to outsmart the English.

  His father said, “Joya is a talented lass.”

  “What else did she say about John?” Alasdair asked.

  “They called her in to change his raggies. She said she spoke with him. They’ve been giving him some potion to make him sleep, but he was awake and playing with his wooden sword when she saw him.”

  “I owe Joya more than I can ever repay her. I’m amazed she found her way inside and managed to get word to you.”

  “The mistake is in men’s foolish minds,” Dyna said. “Thinking lasses belong at home.”

  Els added, “She also spoke with Robert the Bruce, and I met him. Though we’d met at Methven, he didn’t recall. He’s doing well. I believe we’ll come out ahead.” Especially now that the cousins were together. If ever there were a time for their ability to work, it was now—with both John and Grandsire at risk. His eyes shifted to his grandfather as the man moved about the clearing, testing the weight of his weapon. Despite his age, his movements had the fluidity of a great warrior.

  The man was something to watch, and he noticed he wasn’t the only one doing so. Alick, Alasdair, and Dyna all stared at their grandfather, not used to seeing him like this—they were accustomed to receiving his wisdom, but now he was taking a more active role.

  “What’s the plan?” Dyna asked. “We need to end this.”

  Alasdair said, “From the message they sent us, I’m to go with Grandsire to an inn at the edge of the burgh and tell them I’m Alex Grant with a package. They’ll lead me to the place. He’s allowed one escort only, so the rest of you will go with Els and hide wherever he recommends. I’ll post our guards at various points in the burgh, waiting for any sign of trouble or wee laddies being transported in the dark.”

  “I’m ready, Alasdair,” Grandsire said without hesitation. “Lead on.”

  Els said, “We’ll go now. Godspeed with you both. Don’t forget Joya is there, as well. She was dressed in rags when I last saw her.”

  They made plans to return to the clearing whenever the situation was under control. Els’s father and Uncle Finlay spoke to the guards, directing them on where to go and what to look for, and Els, Dyna, Alasdair, and Alick moved to the horses.

  Once they were finished, Dyna looked around. Seeing no one, she said, “Do not forget the power we have. If we need it, we can use it.”

  Els knew she referred to their spectral swords, something they’d all lost faith in before the battle at Alasdair’s keep. “Aye, but I hope we won’t need it,” he said. “There should only be three fools to take out. The English have scattered everywhere after their humiliation at Glen Trool. The Earl of Pembroke is regrouping, and he is not a fan of the sheriffs. Though I can’t wait to uncover which sheriff we’re dealing with this eve.” He flexed his fingers, wishing he had a throat he could wrap his hands around.

  Dyna just gave him a strange look, almost pitying, and said, “Do not be so hasty, Els.”

  They left to get in their positions, Alasdair and Grandsire holding back so it wouldn’t be obvious they were bringing assistance.

  When they reached their destination, Dyna climbed into a tree while Els arranged Alick, his father, and his uncle in different spots so they could each have a different vantage point of the hut.

  And then, once again, all he could do was wait.

  A quarter of an hour later, about five men approached the hut on horseback. They took their horses behind the building and hid there. Els glanced up at Dyna, who used a bird call to communicate she’d seen the same thing he had. Three inside, five outside.

  More waiting. Els wiped the sweat rolling down the sides of his face, forcing himself not to think of Joya. It was possible the bastards hadn’t touched her—that he’d run inside once they took care of the men, only to find her with a sweet smile on her face, holding a wee laddie who was saying, “I Aleshander Grant.”

  He heard a yell off to the side, and Alasdair came into their line of sight, walking next to what appeared to be a decrepit old man. “Here’s my grandsire,” Alasdair called out. “Send my son out.”

  Els had to smile because his grandsire was playing the part perfectly. He took three slow steps closer to the hut, wrapped inside a heavy mantle that hid his bulk, but showed his wooden
walking stick at the bottom. His gray hair was wild, so askew it made him look even older, and his head was stooped down as if he were a weak, feeble man close to death. And while Grandsire had suffered a spell of weakness a few years ago, he’d been hale ever since.

  He could only hope the men inside the hut would fall for the ruse.

  Two men stepped outside of the hut, both empty-handed except for small swords they didn’t even know how to properly hold. Another voice called out from behind Alasdair. “You don’t get the lad until we check the old man, make sure he’s who you say he is. When we leave with him, you can retrieve your son from inside the hut. He’s asleep.”

  “Show me my son,” Alasdair called out, clearly in a fury over their demands.

  Their grandsire coughed, Els recognizing it as his cue to fight.

  Would Alasdair listen?

  “My men will check your grandsire first.”

  The sheriff didn’t emerge. The two men were nearly upon Grandsire when he flung his cape off his back, bellowed the Grant war whoop, and swung the sword he’d had at the ready under the mantle. He swung up toward the closest man, nearly taking his arm off. The fool screamed and fell to the ground at the same time the guards came out from behind the hut.

  Els took his cue to attack, and his father and Alick did the same. An arrow caught the man behind Alasdair square in the chest, and Grandsire swung and caught the other man who’d thought to capture him across the neck, killing him instantly. Alasdair joined the fight, taking on one of the men behind the hut while Alick went after another. Dyna’s arrow hit one running to his horse, but he pulled the arrow out and mounted, taking off away from them.

  There were two men still standing, or there should have been, but three more came charging down the path on horseback, something they hadn’t anticipated. Els noticed his grandfather step away from the fray, giving them the opportunity to take over. He had a look of pride in his eyes. Grandsire was the one who had known they were special, the one who had encouraged them to practice together all these years. And now he was there to see them do it.