Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (44 page)

Rob moved with him. "You don't care about Amy's reputation, but I do. You know everyone's weak spot, and you use it."

"This is about Amy?" Niall relaxed. They were on the same side.

"Damn straight it's about Amy. You have everything, Shawn. Everything! Money, talent, fame, all the women you want. Why Amy, too? Let her go."

Niall struggled to understand. "Rob, I don't remember. What did I do?"

"It's what you're doing now!" Rob moved forward, menacing. He seemed taller than Niall remembered. Bathed in the green glow, his face darkened with anger. The exit signs turned his hair the color of a dying fish. Niall backed up a step, glancing toward the exit, far down the corridor. He would not run. "Turning on the charm again. This ridiculous accent." Niall made a note to copy their speech more carefully. "Getting the ring back. You only did it to reel her in again. How long is it going to last this time?" Rob pointed a finger in Niall's face, backing him up a step. "Damn it, Shawn, she's a real person, not your toy. Quit playing with her."

Niall couldn't make promises he might not be there to keep. He edged away from Rob's jabbing finger. "Rob, listen to me."

"Listen to you! Everyone listens to you! Look where it gets them! Look where it got Amy. First the abortion!"

"What's abor..." He didn't know the word. "What's that?"

"What the hell are you playing at, Shawn? I don't buy it." Rob punched his arm. Niall jerked backward. "You know what it is. You took her there begging and crying. She didn't want to do it."

"Do what?" Niall fought the edge in his own voice.

"She was afraid to go against you, you were so angry. Like you had nothing to do with it! And now she's pregnant again."

"She's with child?" The shock hit Niall like the loch's icy waters in early spring.

"With child!" Rob sneered. "Yeah, she's 'with child.' She didn't tell you? I bet she was afraid to after the last time." Rob punched his arm again. Niall flung his hands up, too late to ward off the blow. "Don't you know what that abortion did to her? Don't you see the look she gets around babies? You're supposed to love her, but I saw what you couldn't. June sixth. Oh-six-oh-six. I saw her change that day. That's the day it happened. Sometimes, I see those numbers written on her things."

"I don't understand," Niall said. "She wanted a baby?"

"Of course she wanted it." Rob swore. "You don't want to see, do you? You wear selfishness like a badge of honor. Nice guys finish last. That's your motto, isn't it?" He pushed him, hard. Niall stumbled backwards, up against the wheeled crate bulging with costumes. It rolled an inch under his impact, striking another wall.

Niall caught himself with one hand, twisting off the crate.

Rob slammed his palm into Niall's chest, backing him up a step with each beat. "You are selfish
slam
and self-centered
slam
and cruel
slam
. She begged you!"
Slam!

"Listen to me," yelled Niall.

"I'm done listening to you. Let her go, Shawn!"
Slam
. Niall threw up a hand in defense. "She'll never leave you when you act like this, but I know you."
Slam.
Something caught in Rob's voice, and Niall saw, in the dim light, two dark streaks running down his face. "I know you. You'll lead her on and then abandon her again." His voice caught again. "And just when she's ready to really leave you, you'll turn on the charm and reel her right back in."
SLAM
. The wall crunched into Niall's spine and the back of his head, jarring him.

He shoved himself off the wall. "Listen to..."

Rob wiped his eyes angrily. "Cut her free, Shawn. I love her. I'd take care of her." A sob came from deep in his chest. He punched Niall, a closed fist this time, throwing him backwards. "I would have taken care of her last time. I would have loved that baby like my own. I would have done that, I would have done anything for her sake, but you just keep reeling her back in. You have to have everything, don't you?"

Niall held up his hands. "Rob, we're on the same side."

"I would love this baby like my own. We'd be a family." Rob shoved him up against the cinder block wall, gripping his shirt. "Let her go, Shawn!"

The name grated on Niall's nerves. All the hatred of Shawn flooded back, a blaze of red anger behind his eyelids. "Stop calling me Shawn!" he roared. He threw his hands up, throwing Rob off, and shoved back. "I am Niall Campbell, heir to Glenmirril!"

Rob stumbled back, crashing into the opposite wall. A mad bellow erupted from his mouth, and he threw himself forward. One fist powered into Niall's jaw, shooting his head backwards. A jolt of pain ripped through his head, his neck, his eyes, dazing him. Red shots of anger flashed before his eyes.

Niall dropped to one knee, feeling for his knife.

* * * * *

Chapter Fifteen

Central Scotland, 1314

Birches and firs engulfed Shawn; rocky outcroppings and boulders jutted up around him. He wondered that Allene threaded her way so surely among them. "You know where you're going?" he asked.

"Surely," Allene said. "And before your injury, you did as well."

They fell silent for several furlongs, their energy going into pushing through dense underbrush. Brother David tried to hide the limp that held them up. Shawn wrapped an arm across his back, helping him along. "Wouldn't it be easier where there aren't so many trees?"

"We may as well play a trumpet to signal Edward's men," Allene said. "D' ye remember naught? They'll see us for many furlongs, out in the open."

"They're looking for a monk," Shawn reminded her.

"Aye, they were," said Brother David. "But it's someone who knows you. When the soldiers say they saw a man playing harp, they'll begin looking for a minstrel in a plumed hat."

Shawn's insides turned a peculiar shade of cold. His throat became stiff, though he tried to swallow several times. He stopped, unable to move.

"Och, Niall," Allene said sadly, placing a hand on his forearm. "You're yet so changed from who you were. I thought ye'd see that immediately. Come, we can scarce afford to stop and be fearful, now."

"But...." Shawn managed a step, and stopped again. He yanked the green-feathered hat off his head, and threw it on the ground. "But I look like a peacock!"

Allene snatched it off the ground, horrified, and stuffed it in her robe. "We canna have them finding it, now!"

He gestured at his jewel blue and poppy red tunic. "I look like a neon sign!"

"Knee...what?" said Brother David.

"I glow in the dark!" Shawn snapped, his anger building with his fear. "It's fine for you two, all in brown, but they'll see me for miles even in this forest! Why didn't you tell me they'd still be after us!"

"Sh, now." Allene squeezed his arm. She pushed a branch aside, pulling him through. "I thought ye knew."

"Then what's the plan?" Shawn asked. "I have to get out of these clothes."

"I've naught else for ye to wear," Allene said.

"Then we find something else. Is there a town, a village, anything where there might be people who wear—" he gestured wildly at his bright minstrel colors, "—who wear anything other than peacock feathers!"

"The town is north," said Allene. "'Tis the wrong direction."

"And I'm wearing the wrong clothes." Shawn spoke low and clear—the Shawn who ran an entire orchestra and everyone in it to his liking. His eyes shot darts. A birdsong stilled, and its singer lifted in flight, fleeing the tension.

Her jaw came out. "We'll go as planned."

He pushed his face close to hers. "Plans changed when they saw me dressed like this."

They stood in the forest, staring one another down.

"Come now," Brother David tried. "We've no time for this."

Shawn ignored him. "The soldiers saw which way we went. They'll go that way, not toward the town."

Brother David's arm flashed up suddenly, yanking Shawn down in the underbrush. Shawn twisted, yelling. The monk's hand clamped over his mouth. "We're not alone!" he hissed.

Shawn became still, the smell of the vegetation twisting into his nostrils, hot and heavy. A spider dangled before his eyes, dropping to the earthen floor on its web. And he heard the voices calling, far off. They listened, pressed on the forest floor, not breathing. Allene's eyes, close to Shawn's, grew big with fear. Her arm, touching his, trembled. The voices came nearer. "Take us to the town, Allene," Shawn whispered. He covered her hand with his. She nodded. Slowly, she raised her head, her hair once again covered by the brown hood.

After seconds, ticking by each like an hour, she motioned, and started inching through the underbrush, slowly, so slowly. Shawn's heart pounded, a timpani out of control, banging in his bruised chest. He kept his breathing shallow and silent, straining to hear the soldiers. Thrashing and swearing told him they were to the left, far off, but still close enough to make the sweat prickle on his back. He crept behind Allene, listening the whole time. They inched—paused—listened—inched.

"Campbell! Give yourself up!"

The voice bit into his being, stopping his heart. He froze.

Inverness, Scotland, Present

Niall's hand grazed the rough jeans. He remembered: he'd stopped carrying his knife. He sprang to his feet, fists up.

The hall was silent.

At the far end, Rob strode away, his shoulders bunched in anger. Niall's nerves screamed for him to finish the fight.

He took a deep breath.

It wasn't worth it. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting rage, not at Rob, but at Shawn, for being such a scoundrel and wastrel. Shawn deserved the pounding Rob thought he'd just given him. Niall wanted to, himself, and he'd never even met the man! Leaving Amy with child! Abortions! He leaned against the wall, the anger draining from him.

At the far end of the hall, Rob slammed through the door. It flashed a beam of light, then swung shut with a thump, shutting Niall in darkness again, broken only by the green glow.

Pray for him!

Niall raised his head. He shouted out loud at the empty walls: "He doesn't deserve it!" His voice echoed back.

Now!

Niall dropped his head in defeat. He slid down the wall and sat, head on knees, in the dark, ashamed of his hatred. "I think he deserves what William Wallace got. But for some reason, You don't." His rubbed his aching jaw. Shawn was most likely with Allene, hunted by English soldiers and a castle traitor. "I pray for him, then. Guide him, protect him."

His pulse raced. They were surely in danger. His hands gripped each other in white-knuckled prayer.
Aves
and
Paters
poured out of his mouth. He didn't look to see who was playing the flute this time. He knew he was alone.

Central Scotland, 1314

"Campbell!" The voice shouted from far off.

"They're bluffing," Allene whispered. But her voice shook. They crouched on hands and knees in the rich vegetation. Her fingers clenched Shawn's hand till he thought the bones would break.

"Campbell!" The sound echoed through the woods. A squirrel stopped chattering, paused, and darted up a tree.

Allene's face, close to his, drained of color. "Doona do anything foolish, Niall. Ye canna fight so many."

"Are you insane?" he hissed. "What makes you think I plan to fight them?"

Her fingers relaxed a fraction on his hand. "Ye've been known to be over-confident," she murmured.

"I'm all about running. Cowards live longer," Shawn whispered back. "Go!" He felt for his hat, remembered she'd taken it, and pushed after her on hands and knees. Brother David rasped at his heels. Shawn hoped the man would survive the nightmare journey. They inched along, ferns brushing overhead, hearing the soldiers' calls.

At the bank of a small creek, Shawn grabbed Allene's ankle and gestured. She shook her head. He paid her no heed. Listening first for the searchers, Shawn crept from the cover of the brush. He scooped handfuls of mud from the shallow creek to cover his face and bright clothes, wherever he could reach, before inching back into the forest growth. The squirrel jabbered above, making him cringe.

"Campbell, come out! We know you're there!"

Allene jolted in fear, but gave her head a hard shake, assuring him they knew no such thing. She inched forward again, all but on her stomach. Shawn and Brother David followed.

An hour passed, Shawn guessed, with the calls and thrashing of their hunters behind them. He hoped Allene knew where she was going. He hoped the mud covered the worst of the light-house signal of colors of his clothing. He hoped....

A shout rang out, far behind. Allene wiggled faster, rising to hands and knees for speed.

"I found his hat!" Cries went up throughout the forest.

Allene looked back at Shawn, her lip trembling. "Stay down!" he whispered. Every tremble of tree or bush might be the enemy. He fought blind panic, while she patted her robe frantically, but he knew it was his hat they'd found.

Far back, the soldiers' tramping and thumping raised forest birds, screeching at the intrusion, into the air. "Faster!" Shawn snapped. "They're making too much noise to hear us." They scrambled to their feet, running, crouching, through the thick vegetation. A grunt of pain escaped Brother David. Shawn grabbed his hand, dragging him along. Allene crested a wooded hill. They sprinted down the other side. Behind them, the English yelled in excitement. "How far to the village?" Shawn panted.

"A dozen furlongs," Allene gulped. Her feet slid suddenly on the damp slope, flying from under her, and she tumbled down, grabbing at trees as she flew head over heels, her robe tangling around her, shouting.

"Open ground!" Brother David pointed, panting, to the bottom of the hill. They plummeted behind her, hurtling, stumbling, sliding, over thinning underbrush. A quarter mile ahead, the forest ended, and a field raced toward another rock-strewn hill.

"A dozen furlongs?" Shawn yelled after Allene. "What is that, a dozen miles or something? We can't run twelve miles!"