The Scot's Spy (Highland Swords Book 2) Page 6

  Two guards entered and made their way straight to Emmalin. “My lady, there are three Scottish sheriffs at the gates asking to speak with the two lairds.”

  “Bring them in,” she said. “Did they give you names?”

  “Sheriff de Fry, Vernauld, and Busby.”

  “Escort them in and don’t allow them to go anywhere alone,” Alasdair added. Although it was Emmalin’s castle and clan, she’d invited him to share the lairdship with her. Emmalin took care of all the steward activities because she was so good with numbers, while he trained their guards, building their numbers to nearly double what they’d started with after the English had attacked the castle.

  “Do you know all three of them, Alasdair?” Dyna asked. “I recall de Fry, of course.”

  As did they all. He was a sheriff loyal to Scotland, one they knew to support Robert the Bruce. From the way Joya had tipped forward to listen, he knew she remembered too.

  “Aye, and I’ve met Vernauld. ’Twas he and de Fry who warned us that the English were heading to this area. Apparently, they think Robert the Bruce will soon arrive on the west coast. Busby isn’t known to me.”

  Joya nodded to Els, capturing his attention, and when he hurried over to her, she reached for his hand. “Will you help me to my chamber?” she whispered. “I don’t feel well all of a sudden.”

  “I’ll show you to your chamber,” Dyna said. “Emmalin and I arranged everything already.”

  He helped Joya to her feet, then lifted her into his arms with a whoosh while she thanked their hosts. Els said, “I’ll be right back after I get her settled.”

  When he took the last step on the staircase, he heard the three men enter the hall, their voices carrying up to him. He recognized de Fry’s voice but not the other two. Not giving it any more thought, he followed Dyna into Joya’s chamber and carried her inside, settling her on the bed.

  “I’ll see you belowstairs,” Dyna said, giving him a look that told him she was intentionally giving them some time alone.

  He didn’t like the look on Joya’s face. Two episodes of pain in less than a sennight was more than many could bear, and she’d been strong so far. Her condition was worsening, he could see it in her movements. “What’s bothering you?” Els asked, sitting on the bed next to her.

  “My head just started pounding again. I wish I had something to calm it. It hurts so much I want to go bang it against that wall. I feel as if I might—”

  She bolted out of bed and found a nearby empty basin, heaving up her recent meal.

  Els leaned over her, pulling back some strands of hair, but she waved her arm at him.

  “Please,” she said, momentarily pausing. “Allow me to do this in private. Find me something to drink, please?”

  “I’ll ask Emmalin about her healer and find you something.” He hurried back down the stairs, wanting to do something for her. He felt awful for what she’d endured, but at least she was in a warm, safe place. That icy rain had been the worst he’d experienced in a long time.

  Everyone had gone in different directions already, to his surprise. He caught Emmalin’s back as she entered the kitchens. “Emmalin?”

  She stopped and spun around. “What is it, Els? Is Joya all right?”

  “Nay, she’s heaving and her head wound is bothering her. Do you have a healer I could ask to see her?” It struck him that she looked upset, her face etched with worry. “Is anything wrong? What did the sheriffs want?”

  “You left before they spoke. The English garrison is on its way. About one hundred men. We’ve more than enough warriors to fight them, but I’m worried about my bairns.”

  “Where is Alasdair?”

  “He’s gone outside to ready the guards. I don’t know if I could get to the healer in the village right now, but I’ll send my maid up to Joya. Her name is Besseta and she’s learned many of the healer’s skills and has her potions.”

  “Aye, I remember Besseta. She would be most helpful. Do what you must and many thanks to you.”

  He grabbed a goblet of water before hurrying back to Joya’s chamber. She was lying down mopping her forehead. “You are better? Emmalin’s maid will be here to check on you. She has potions that may help.”

  Joya reached for his hand. “You are nervous. I can tell something has happened. What is it?”

  He pulled a stool over next to the bed and landed on it with a plop. Hell, but he hadn’t expected to be put in this position so quickly. There’d been no time to think about it, no time to prepare.

  At the same time, he wondered if more time would have done him any good. Hadn’t he had plenty of time to overcome his fears?

  “There’s an English garrison set to attack here with one hundred men.”

  “But we brought two hundred men, did we not? And how many have Alasdair and Emmalin?”

  “I think he said well over a hundred. True, our numbers are much better, and they are weak English curs, so it should not be much of a battle, but my cousins will be looking for me.”

  “Els, go help. You need not stay here with me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Nay, I’ll not leave you when you’re this sickly. I’ll stay with you. They do not need me.”

  Yellow belly, a voice in his head accused, and as usual, he could neither say nor do anything to refute it. His palms sweated at the mere thought of using his sword in battle.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, so he answered it quickly. “Besseta? You look well.”

  “Aye,” the old woman outside said. “I wish we’d met again under different circumstances. I have a potion that will help with her headache. Tell me more about the heaving.”

  Then, because he knew he must at least speak with his cousins before the battle, he nodded and said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

  Besseta strode right over to the bed, so he hurried down the stairs. Alasdair was speaking with Emmalin in the hall, and his cousin glanced up at him as he hurried down the staircase.

  “Els, you will join us? The attack is imminent. Our swords could work with all of us together.”

  “But they have not worked in a year or more. Do not count on it.”

  Alasdair dipped his head, then said, “I know, but ’tis always worth a try. At one time, we were so powerful together.”

  Els paled, replying, “But it has not worked and these are special circumstances. Do you need me with our three hundred guards? Joya is truly sick. I’d prefer to stay here with her.”

  Alasdair’s hands went to his hips. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing. We may need your sword. It only works when we’re all fighting together. We should always make an attempt if we’re together.”

  Els nearly lost his temper. “You know we’ve failed at that of late. True, it worked with Grandsire three years ago, but we haven’t had much success in repeating it, so don’t blame this on me. She shouldn’t be alone.”

  Emmalin grasped her husband’s shoulder and said, “Let it go, Alasdair. Leave him here. I’ll put John and Ailith in the chamber with them. Els will protect them if anyone gets inside, and they’ll be hidden up there. I don’t want them in the hall with just Bessie. The last attack was hard on her, and she’s getting up in years. Worrying about the English attacking our bairns is more than she should have to handle.”

  Alasdair cupped his wife’s face and kissed her, but when he stepped back, he said, “We’ve plenty of men, Em. No one will make it inside, so Besseta is more than capable of taking care of them.”

  “Please, Alasdair. What if someone has found the tunnel or comes over the back wall?” Emmalin gripped her skirts, her hands kneading the folds as if she were trying to tear them into shreds. “Please leave someone who can protect them. You know John will wish to go to battle with you, but if he’s with Els, he won’t carry on so. He’ll take pride in protecting his sister and Joya. I’ll be in the courtyard with you because I cannot stay inside when our clan is under attack, but please give me the satisfaction of knowing our bairns are well-p
rotected. ’Twill give me peace of mind.”

  The glare Alasdair gave Els told him he was not convinced, but after a moment, he nodded. “I’m agreeing to please my wife, Els, not you. We’ll talk later.” He kissed Emmalin again on the lips then left, heading out into the courtyard. Into battle.

  “I’ll bring the bairns up in a few minutes,” Emmalin said, smiling at him with obvious relief. “My thanks to you, Els.”

  Els nodded, casting a glance toward the door Alasdair had gone through. Once he left, he said to Emmalin, “I’ll help with the bairns. I can keep John occupied.” The guilt nearly crushed him, but at least he’d likely stop sweating now. His back felt as drenched as if he’d just come out of a loch.

  Letting out a deep breath, he climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Besseta answered and said, “I’ve left a few potions to help her. She thinks the need to heave is gone.” Then she disappeared down the passageway, her footsteps on the stairs echoing behind her, the echo another testament to the fact that the great hall was now deserted.

  Everyone had a job to do when a clan was under attack. So did he. He would care for Joya and the bairns. Stepping inside, he said, “You are better?”

  She sat on the side of the bed and motioned to the chair in front of the small hearth. “Will you help me move? I think I’d like to sit up. Besseta wrapped my ankle to help with the swelling and she gave me a potion for my headache. ’Tis better already.” Once she was settled, she said, “Now I’d like to hear your reasons for coming back. I’ve known many warriors in my day, and most of them are eager for a fight.”

  He sat in the other chair in front of the fire, turning it to face her. “Time for honesty. I cannot seem to escape my memories. Three years ago, in Brechin Castle, I killed men and saw them die in front of me. Many of them. I’ve awakened many times in the middle of the night seeing their eyes in front of my own, as if reminding me of what I did. As if blaming me.”

  “Els, I’m verra familiar with war and the repercussions. What would have happened if you hadn’t killed those men?” Her voice had dropped to a quiet tone, nothing in it judgmental at all, so he was encouraged to bare his soul.

  This was an answer he didn’t have to think about. “They would have killed me.”

  “Just you?”

  “And Alasdair. He was so close, their bodies both landed on him.” He paced the chamber, staring up at the ceiling.

  “So you and your cousin would have died, and probably many more. You protected yourself and your clan. Do not be so hard on yourself.”

  He continued to pace, still looking up at the ceiling because he could feel the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes, and he would not cry. “The worst part is that I thought I’d conquered my fear at last. The nightmares had gone away, mostly, and I had no trouble fighting in Berwick and other places, but then the Battle of Methven happened…”

  He explained his near escape, how he’d failed to react but Dyna had done so for him.

  “And you fault yourself for that? Robert saved my life, but I’ll be the first to tell you he misjudged the English that day. He shouldn’t have trusted them to wait until the next morn.”

  “Aye, you’re right.” He ran his hand through his hair, pulling on it.

  “If you tug your hair any harder, your head will have about as much hair as your arse. Although you’d still be handsome without your hair.” Then she put her finger to her bottom lip and cocked her head. “Or do you have a hairy arse?”

  “Would you care to find out?” Laughing, something he wouldn’t have thought possible moments before, he moved over to the bed and fell on it, sitting and wrapping his arms around Joya. “Why is it you always know how to make me smile?”

  She wrinkled her nose and said, “Because you think I’m adorable?”

  “Someday I’ll show you my arse, and mayhap you’ll plait all that hair.”

  “Och. You do and I’ll cut it all off.”

  That made him stand back up and cover his private area. “No daggers near my manly parts, not even close.”

  She smiled, but her expression turned serious. “I mean it, Els. You’d have come around in Methven if you had not been sound asleep. They snuck up on you. Is that all of it?”

  “Not completely. My grandsire wants all of us to fight together, and Alasdair always does what Grandsire wants.”

  “Where is his sire?”

  “He lost both of his parents about four summers ago. He took it verra hard, and it made him even closer to our grandfather.”

  She just waited, as if she knew he had something else to say. And he did, of course. He wanted to tell her about the Highland Swords, but he feared how she would react. Would she believe him? Would she think him daft?

  But the look in her eyes, so understanding and warm, invited him to tell, and in truth, he wanted her opinion.

  “I tell you this in the strictest confidence,” he said. “If word got out, it might cause difficulties for us.”

  “You can trust me. I don’t know many to tell.”

  “Grandpapa thinks the three of us—Alasdair, Alick, and I—have special abilities when we fight with Dyna present.” He watched her to see if he could pick up on her instinctual reaction, but he didn’t see any derision there. “We three were all born on the same night, at the same time, and he’s always thought it meant something.”

  “What kind of abilities?” she asked, her tone interested rather than judgmental.

  “The hilts of our swords heat up, and the power makes our swings more powerful. It can also be shifted into our enemies’ hilts to burn their hands, but we only managed to do that once, three years ago, when we were practicing on Grant land. We’ve never been able to repeat our success to that level. Grandsire wants us to keep trying. We have, but not as much of late because Alasdair’s been busy with his family.”

  “There’s no harm in trying, especially out of respect for your elder.” Her eyes lit up, “And if it happened before, there’s a chance it will happen again. What a gift ‘twould be for Scotland.”

  “Aye, but even if it works, ’twill not keep me from freezing up in the midst of a battle. I’d surely die. Or my hesitation might cost other men their lives.”

  She shrugged. “Mayhap. But your grandsire is right. You can’t give up. We must all do our part for Scotland, and it sounds as if you and your cousins were given this gift for a reason. Mayhap the time has simply not been right. As my sire always said, ‘if ’tis for a noble cause, you must do it.’ You don’t feel that way?”

  He didn’t know what he felt anymore. Guilt. Confusion. Shame. “I do, but until I vanquish this thing inside of me, these memories, I’ll avoid battle where I can.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to find words to explain how he felt, but he didn’t have time to finish. The door opened and Emmalin entered with Ailith wrapped in a plaid and John, already brandishing his wooden sword.

  Els broke into a wide smile as soon as he saw the lad. He couldn’t get over how much he looked like his sire, or the fact that he was carrying a wooden sword larger than his body. He recalled when he and Alasdair and Alick had been lads, only slightly larger than this one. They’d also taken great pride in their wooden swords.

  They’d fought each other wherever and whenever they could, until Grandmama told them to stop and go outside. They’d loved to run off to the smithy, who’d been a good sport about play-fighting with them. He used to feign defeat and fall over “dead.” And when they were a wee bit older, Grandsire had started training them in their own private place. He’d made them all promise not to tell Alick’s mother because he was certain she, of all of their parents, would not approve.

  When Els was but five, the three of them had come into the great hall with some bruises and his mother had asked, “Where were you?”

  Els had answered confidently, “We weren’t fighting with our swords.” He’d been certain she’d accept that answer, but Aunt Kyla had followed with a quick, “Papa? What were you doing?”

>   He chuckled at the memories. While Emmalin fussed over the babe, he whispered to Joya, “Do you know what they called us?”

  She shook her head.

  “The trio of terrors. Some people ran away when we came outside together with our wooden swords. Especially lasses. Well, all of the lasses except for my cousins.”

  What had happened to him?

  “I Aleshander Grant,” wee John said, interrupting his thoughts. Then he did his best imitation of a warrior swinging his sword in front of him.

  “Just play along with him and he’ll be fine,” Emmalin said, “but don’t let John leave. He likes to pretend he’s his great-grandfather fighting in the Battle of Largs. And Joya, if you don’t mind watching the wee lass, I’ll put her in an open drawer. She’s sound asleep and should sleep for another couple of hours.”

  “I would be honored to watch her,” Joya said. “How old is she?”

  “Eight moons, and John is nearly two years. I brought a basket with a few things. A toy she likes and some soft cheese and fresh goat’s milk if either of them get hungry. I hope to be back before she awakens. We should have enough men to end this quickly.”

  “We’ll take care of everything,” Els said. Although the shame hadn’t left him, he was grateful he could at least do something of use—and even more grateful that he wouldn’t likely have to fight to protect them. Although he would if he had to. God knew he would try. “Godspeed to all of you.”

  Emmalin gave both her bairns a kiss, then left, closing the door behind her.

  Once she was gone, Els said to John, “You look just like your father.”

  “Nay, I Aleshander Grant.” He swung his makeshift weapon a few more times, demonstrating his skill. When he stopped, he looked at Els and asked, “Pway?”

  “Sure, lad. What shall we play?”

  “Hide?”

  Els couldn’t help but smile. The lad was charming. His cousin had done well for himself.

  “Hide!” John repeated. His wide blue eyes told him he was quite serious and excited at the same time.