Fraser 02 - Highland Quest Page 13

  “Prepare to die.” Dungal forced Bryce to kneel before him. He raised the blade above his head then brought it down in a sweeping motion.

  “Bryce!”

  Fallon shot up in bed, her hand clutching her throat. Perspiration beaded her brow. Her heart clamored in her chest like a beast was trying to claw its way out. Drawing a simple breath was impossible. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regain her composure.

  Her attempt to reassure herself fell short. She’d foreseen Bryce’s death before, but each time the images became more vivid. She heaved a deep sigh. There was no way she could warn him, and even if she could get him to listen, he’d not change his mind about joining the Bruce in battle.

  “Are you ailing, lass?” A male voice, followed by a firm rap on the door, caught her attention.

  “I’m fine.” Fallon dropped her legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room. She opened the door a crack and smiled at Fergus.

  “What’s all the palver about?” he asked. “I heard your outcry clear into the inn.”

  “I’m sorry if I gave you reason for alarm. I dozed off and must have called out in my sleep.”

  “Best you temper your shouting. You never know who might hear, or what they may think.” The corner of Fergus’ lip curled from a frown to a pleasant grin. “Fortunately, no harm was done. Maeve prepared a leg of venison and some turnips for the evening meal. Are you hungry?”

  As if answering the question on her behalf, Fallon’s stomach growled. “Aye, it has been a while since I had anything to eat. I would welcome a hot meal. Allow me a few minutes to freshen up then I will join you in the kitchen.”

  Fergus inclined his head. “Make haste. My wife doesna like to be kept waiting. I’d rather face an angry bear than to endure Maeve’s ire when her meal grows cold.”

  Fallon closed the door then moved toward a small basin of water she’d spotted on the table beside the bed. She brushed her hair and straightened her gown before going in search of her hosts.

  “Did you rest well?” Maeve gave the contents of an iron pot another stir then wiped her hands on her apron.

  “I managed to close my eyes. Can I help?” Fallon paused in the center of the kitchen and glanced around. A platter of roasted meat sat on a shelf by the hearth, the aroma causing her stomach to gurgle in response.

  “Nay. The food is ready. Sit yourself down.” Maeve pointed to a wooden table with four mismatched chairs.

  “Good, I’m starving.” Fergus rubbed his belly and laughed. He sat and motioned for Fallon to take the seat beside him. “Join me, lass, so Maeve can serve the meal.”

  “I canna stay here unless I am allowed to earn my keep. My proficiency in the kitchen may be limited, but I had no complaints about the fare I served my uncle. I am, however, skilled in the garden and noticed yours was overgrown with weeds. Mayhap I can be of assistance there as well.”

  “I’ll simply not allow you to work. You’re our guest.” Maeve’s stern tone and determined stare bespoke her reluctance to bend.

  “Then I must leave.” Fallon was equally stubborn in her beliefs.

  “Let the lass help you, Maeve. You’re not so young anymore and often mentioned the chores have become a burden at times.”

  Maeve’s brows knit together and she scowled at her husband. “Insulting me willna gain my favor. If you desire a younger wife, why don’t you—”

  Fergus stood and rounded the table before his wife finished her tirade. He curled his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, despite her attempt to pull away. “You know that is not what I meant. You are as beautiful as ever.”

  Maeve’s face flushed and she stopped struggling. “I may have a few more aches and pains than I used to, but I can still dance my way around any lass half my age.”

  Fallon shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the tension between her hosts, and searched for something to say. “I’m a healer. Mayhap I can put together a few herbs that will help to relieve some of your discomfort.”

  Fergus laughed and ran a hand over his left hip. “The lass found a way to make herself useful. I could use a little of that elixir myself.”

  “I will prepare the brew after we finish our meal. Speaking of which, I do intend to help with other chores as well.” Fallon picked up the platter of meat and carried it to the table. “After we’ve finished this wonderful food, we can discuss a list of things for me to do.”

  “You are a thrawn lass—” Maeve began, but Fergus clutched her upper arm and shook his head. “You are fighting a battle of wits you have no hope of winning. There is no harm in letting the lass help you, as long as she stays out of sight. If what Bryce told me is true, she may be in danger should anyone recognize her.”

  Fallon waited for Maeve to concede before taking her seat at the table. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to stay out of the way.” She poked her knife into a slice of meat and placed it on her trencher. “This looks delicious. I canna remember the last time I enjoyed such a feast.”

  Bryce paced, his movements brisk, his posture rigid. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get Fallon off his mind. Despite Robert’s reassurances and his faith in Fergus, his gut told him she was in danger. Was sending her to Turnberry a mistake? Had his determination to distance himself and his emotions put her at risk?

  He cursed beneath his breath and kicked a small rock in his path.

  “Sit and relax, brother. Watching you is making me dizzy. Fallon is safe and you need to regain your focus before the battle.” Alasdair added another log to the fire, then picked up a stick and stirred the glowing embers.

  “Who said I was thinking about Fallon?” Bryce growled.

  “You dinna have to say anything. I know you, little brother, and often what you do or say is totally different from what you are truly thinking or feeling.”

  Bryce glanced over his shoulder at Alasdair then raked his fingers through his hair. “Leaving Fallon in Turnberry made sense at the time, but I am no longer certain it was a wise choice. What if Dungal finds her?”

  “Robert would not send her there if he dinna think she’d be safe. Did you tell her you’d return for her?” Instead of his usual banter, Alasdair spoke with compassion.

  “I refuse to make promises I canna keep.”

  “Canna keep or willna keep?”

  “I’m pleased you returned before dusk, Bryce.” Robert joined them. “Traveling at night can be treacherous, as you well know.” He winked and smiled. “Was Fergus waiting for you when you arrived?”

  “Aye. He and his wife were very kind.” Bryce faced Robert. “Are we still leaving at daybreak?”

  Robert nodded. “We depart at first light. As I mentioned in our last discussion, timing is important. We have tarried here long enough.” He sat on a log and picked up a trencher filled with food from the ground. “I’ve traveled with Alasdair long enough to know he never misses a meal. Is this yours?” He offered the wooden platter to Bryce. “A warrior needs to eat and keep up his strength.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Bryce sat on the opposite side of the fire and lowered his head.

  “My brother is brooding over his woman.”

  “I dinna have a woman.”

  “Fergus will do everything in his power to protect Fallon. You need to concentrate on the upcoming battle. If you canna do that, mayhap it is best you stay behind.” Robert’s tone hardened to one of authority. “Every man must have his wits about him and his head on a swivel. This battle is important to the cause. After our success at Glen Trool, winning this confrontation at Loudon Hill will prove to Longshanks that Scotland will never surrender to English tyranny.”

  “I have no problem staying focused on the battle,” Bryce answered. “You sound confident in your strategy to defeat Aymer de Valance. However, we have approximately five hundred men and the English garrison numbers close to two thousand. The odds are not well balanced. Add the MacDougalls and our chance of success diminishes.”

  “If my
plan is executed properly, we canna lose.” Robert stood, his chin held high. “Have you ever watched a spider spinning a web?”

  Bryce cocked his brow. “A spider? What does that have to do with fighting a battle?”

  “While exiled on the Isle of Arran, I spent countless hours observing one’s attempt to weave a web on the wall of a cave. No matter how many times he failed, and despite the unlikely odds, the creature kept trying. Eventually it managed to secure a single strand of silk to the stone. Within seconds it began to spin a web, not stopping until the task was completed. Triumphant, the spider waited for his prey. Once entangled in the trap, the victim could not escape.”

  “Robert, I wish to speak with you.” A tall, broad-shouldered young man strode toward them with his hand outstretched.

  Robert gripped the man’s forearm, giving it a shake. “James, I’m pleased to see you, but I was not expecting to meet up with you until we reached Loudon Hill.”

  James glanced at Bryce and Alasdair before addressing Robert again. “I need to discuss an urgent matter. Alone.”

  Robert wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Anything you need to say can be discussed openly, but if you wish to speak privately so be it.” He ushered James away from the fire.

  “Who is he?” Bryce craned his neck in an attempt to hear the conversation, but was unable to discern what was being said.

  “James Douglas. Some refer to him as Black Douglas. He is the son of Sir William Douglas the Hardy. In the early years of the rebellion, his da rode with Wallace. Sadly, he was captured and executed, their land taken by Longshanks. James was fostering in Paris at the time. The lad had only seen twelve summers when his father died.” Alasdair stood and stretched.

  Bryce’s brow furrowed. “He dinna look old enough to shave, let alone fight. I’m surprised Robert would set store in anything a lad has to report.”

  “They met last spring, when Robert was on his way to claim the throne. James, now twenty summers, had just returned from a failed appeal to regain his birthright from Edward. With no home and nowhere to go, he offered his sword for the cause.” Alasdair threw more wood on the fire. “I made his acquaintance while we were on Arran. He may be young, but he is a bold warrior.”

  “If he is so valuable and ally, why is it he dinna come over with Robert and his men when they landed in Scotland?”

  “James returned to the mainland ahead of us. Since his arrival, he has created a diversion by keeping the English busy, engaging them in skirmishes wherever possible.” Alasdair lowered his voice when Robert approached.

  “What did the lad want?” Bryce wasted no time inquiring.

  “They intercepted a spy from the MacDougall clan on the road outside of Turnberry. After a brief interrogation, the man was eager to tell James anything he wanted to hear.” Robert pointed to a grove of trees beyond the clearing.

  Bryce narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the darkness. Using the moonlight to focus, he spied a group of men. “Am I to assume the man in chains is the spy?”

  “Aye. He was sent to infiltrate our ranks then report his findings, but James and his men intercepted him before he was able to deliver this missive. However, we dinna know how many times he might have slipped out of camp before tonight, or if he was acting alone. Leaving at first light is now more imperative than ever. Alasdair, please inform the men, and Bryce, you come with me.”

  Alasdair bowed. “I will speak with them right away.” He hurried off to do Robert’s bidding.

  “What will you do with the spy?” Bryce asked as they walked toward James and his comrades.

  “What we do with all men who commit treason against their king and country. Hang him.”

  Chapter 12

  Fallon struggled with the weight of a heavy wooden tray. Piled high with clean tankards, she carried it into the taproom and began stacking the tinware on a shelf behind the bar.

  “What are you doing?” Fergus lowered his voice so the patrons sitting at a table a few feet away could not overhear.

  “You said I could help with the chores.”

  “Aye, I did.” Fergus shook his head. “Since I canna fight you on this, I will concede, and accept your help, but only if you promise to stay out of sight until we are certain you’ll be safe. After what happened to your uncle, Bryce fears the English may still be looking for you.”

  “I give you my word. I dinna want to do anything that might put you and Maeve in jeopardy.”

  “Guid. I’m sure my wife would welcome some help in the kitchen. That is, once she gets accustomed to the idea.” Fergus laughed.

  Fallon nodded and retuned to the kitchen, mere seconds before the door to the inn opened with such force it struck the wall with a loud crash. When she heard the ruckus, she peered around the doorframe, but was careful to remain hidden.

  “Can I help you lads?” Fergus asked as three large warriors lumbered toward a table by the hearth.

  Fallon covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. She recognized the plaid often worn by the MacDougall warriors.

  “Bring us some ale and make it quick,” one of the men growled as he sat down with his companions.

  “Get out.” A fourth man entered and pointed to the patrons already enjoying their drinks.

  Fallon cringed at the sound of Dungal MacDougall’s voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. Logic told her to hide, but there was no way to exit the kitchen without being seen. She had to pass by the taproom to go anywhere in the inn and she was certain more of Dungal’s men would be milling about outside. Crouched beside the door she’d left open a crack, Fallon watched her nemesis as he surveyed the premises.

  Dungal waited for the patrons to leave before joining his men.

  “This is Carrick, not Galloway. You are no longer on MacDougall land and have no right to give orders in my inn.” Fergus stepped out from behind the bar. “You are not welcome here.”

  Fallon cringed at Fergus’ bold statement and raised her hand to cover her mouth. If he angered Dungal, he was going to get himself killed. What was he thinking?

  One of the warriors jumped to his feet and stomped forward. “We are here on the King’s business, old man. I’d counsel my tongue if I were you.”

  “Robert the Bruce is the rightful King of Scotland. Longshanks’ arse-kissing minions have no place here.” Fergus refused to back down.

  “Did you hear what he called us, Dungal?” The warrior drew a sword from the baldric on his back. “I’ll gut the bastard where he stands.”

  Dungal grabbed the man by the arm, halting his advance. “That won’t be necessary, brother. Fergus is entitled to his opinion. He rode with William Wallace and supports the Bruce, so there is no question where his loyalties lie.”

  “What do traitorous dogs know about loyalty? Your ancestors defended Scottish soil and would roll in their graves if they knew you supported the English.”

  “Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” Dungal’s brother lunged forward, but his way was blocked.

  “I said sit down, Keith.” Dungal growled. He waited for his disgruntled brother to back away then took a menacing step in Fergus’ direction. “But he is also subject to the consequences.” He slid a dirk from its sheath and flaunted it in Fergus’ face. “Is speaking your mind worth losing your tongue?”

  Fergus grunted. “I’ve never been afraid to speak my mind. Especially when what I have to say rings true.” He tossed a cleaning rag over his shoulder and turned his back to Dungal. He moved to an ale barrel, tucked a tankard beneath the spigot, filling the vessel to the brim.

  Fallon held her breath in anticipation of Dungal’s irate reaction, but to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed.

  “You always had more guts than brains.” Dungal flung the dirk. Horrified, Fallon watched the blade sail through the air, before sticking into an ale barrel, only a few inches from Fergus’ face. “Next time, I willna miss.”

  Fergus didn’t flinch. He filled another tankard, then sauntered past
Dungal with a drink in each hand.

  Fallon craned her neck, but Dungal obscured her view. She jumped at a tap on the shoulder, her heart rising in her throat.

  “Best you find a place to hide,” Maeve whispered and motioned with her hand for Fallon to move away from the door. “We dinna want Dungal to find you.”

  But there wasn’t time. Fallon sucked in a sharp breath when Dungal glanced at the kitchen door. Certain he’d seen her, or overheard Maeve, she quickly pulled back her head and muttered a prayer.

  “Dungal,” a man shouted.

  When she heard the stranger’s voice, Fallon exhaled the breath she was holding. She must have been mistaken or Dungal would be upon them by now. Careful to remain out of sight, she resumed her position, watching the interaction going on in the inn.

  A short, stout, balding man entered, followed by two burly warriors.

  “Bring us more ale,” Dungal threw over his shoulder to Fergus as he approached the stranger. “Are there men guarding the door, Aymer?”

  “A sufficient number of men surround the inn, and the remainder of the garrison is camped on the edge of the village.” He sauntered to the table, took a seat, and glared at Fergus as he placed a tray of filled tankards on the table. “What is he doing here?”

  “He runs the inn, but won’t be staying.” Dungal motioned to one of the guards. “See him out and make sure he dinna disturb us. If he gives you any trouble, kill him.”

  Seriously outnumbered, Fergus retreated to the storeroom. The sentry followed.

  Dungal pointed at two of the three men who had accompanied him. “Do you remember my brother and cousin?”

  “I do, but enough with the introductions. Did you locate the rebels?” Aymer brought the tankard to his lips and drank.

  “They’re gone.” Dungal slammed his fist on the table.

  “I thought you placed informants in the Bruce’s camp? They were supposed to keep you abreast of their activities. How did they get away?”