Bride of Dunloch (Highland Loyalties) (16 page)

Robbie chuckled and tightened his arm around her frame. “I am honoured to be the one ye trusted yerself wi’ to learn.”

Jane chewed her lip, thinking. Noting her deep state of thought, he nudged her with the tip of his nose.

“What are ye thinking on?”

“I’m not thinking, I’m regretting,” she answered wistfully.

“Regretting?”

She turned her head to him, and noticed a hurt look in his green eyes. She laughed when she realized what her admission must have sounded like.

“I don’t regret what we did,” she clarified.

“Then what?”

She breathed deeply, pressing her lips together. “I regret that I cannot bring you back to the castle with me. The moment I leave here—
every
time I leave here—the memories grow dim, and immediately begin to fade. I don’t want any of them to fade, but I especially don’t want
this
memory to fade. This is the most important memory I think I shall ever have, and I cannot bear the thought of it not always being crystal clear in my mind.”

“I wish I could give ye something ye could take wi’ ye to remember me by each time yer gone.”

“I think that might be very foolish.”

“Aye, it would. If ye were caught wi’ anything of mine, it might be recognized ... and yet I still want to give ye something to remember me by. I canna help it.”

Jane smiled ruefully. “And I cannot help but want to have something of yours.”

Robbie thought for a moment. Then, reaching to his abandoned heap of garments, he fished through the tangle of items for his sgian-dubh. Pressing the blade to the edge of his kilt, he cut a notch into the fabric and tore away a small strip.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her tentatively. “Whatever else I may be, I am still MacGillivray. This is the plaid of my family, my people. Please, take it. Only take care ye dinna let anyone find ye wi’ it. Hide it where no one will think to look.”

“I will,” she said thickly, taking the plaid from him and clutching it in her hand.

“I wish I could give ye more,” he added regretfully.

“I wish I could give you something in return.”

“Ye have, Jane,” he argued. “Ye’ve given me so much already. How can I ever repay ye for all ye’ve done?”

She shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Robbie tipped her chin to his face and pressed a tender kiss to her lips.

“So ye’ve said.”

No matter how much she might have wanted it to be so, dawn could not be wished away. The morning light slowly stole into the cracks of the dilapidated hut, reminding Jane that she had to leave if she did not want to be caught sneaking back into the castle.

Robbie was still asleep when she left, and she reached the rear gatehouse just as the translucent, pre-dawn sky was beginning to give way to another grey morning. She was nearly spotted by an unusually alert sentry as she approached the curtain wall, but she managed to slip back inside and to her chamber without incident.

She thought about much on her journey back to the castle, but one thought in particular played on her conscience: she was the Baroness of Dunloch; she knew of the grave injustices done to the MacGillivray clan by her own English countrymen. As such she could not shake the notion—that she was meant to
do
something.

But
what
could she do? She could hardly restore Dunloch to the MacGillivrays; such a thing was a physical impossibility. But if it were not ... would she? Would she betray her country? Her king? Her family and everything she’d been raised to believe? Would she betray her husband?

That
notion in turn made her shake her head in derision, for not only had she betrayed him last night—and again this morning, less than an hour ago—she’d betrayed him with his primary enemy in this land, a man he was hell-bent on bringing to his idea of “justice.”

Oh, her mind was an inescapable jumble. And yet she still couldn’t seem to shake the thought that there was
something
she might do to help—however small.

She was no closer to a resolution by the time she laid her head on her pillow for a few precious hours of sleep than she’d been the night before. But though her brief slumber was dreamless, two distinct memories, fragments really, surfaced in that period of unconsciousness; when she awoke, she was left with an idea.

In the darkness of her slumber, she saw Connall—husband, father, cousin and loyal MacGillivray—lying dead at the bottom of the ridge along with his fallen clansmen. And she saw his young son’s face as he peered expectantly up at her.

He must be buried and we can visit him.

The next morning, Jane waited anxiously as the castle inhabitants trickled in and out of the great hall, scouring their faces for one member in particular. Finally she spied who she wanted, but was forced to remain in her seat until Lord Reginald departed with his noblemen for the day.

The moment he’d gone, she rushed to the trestle table in the corner where Tearlach sat, alone, chewing his plate of meat with little enthusiasm.

“Tearlach, I must speak with you,” she said urgently, sitting down on the bench across from him.

“Yes, my Lady, what is it?”

“Are you still loyal to the MacGillivrays? Answer truthfully. This is not a trick; I do not intend to betray you to the English if your answer is yes.”

“My Lady,” he whispered harshly. “This is no’ the place to be saying such a thing. People may hear.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, whispering also. “But I’ve started it, and what do you think is worse—continuing to talk about it here as if there is nothing wrong in it, or rushing off secretively and practically admitting our disloyalty? I rather think the latter would attract more attention, don’t you?”

Tearlach said nothing, but nodded his large head and shrugged his stooped shoulders.

“Alright, do not answer my question. But I need you to do something for me which, it will turn out, is something you will do for your clan as well. It is nothing large, but it
is
a risk, for if Lord Reginald discovers what I have in mind—though I doubt highly that he will—he may find a reason to hang you for it. I wish I could say the risk is mine also, but I fear it is not for my family connections lend me a measure of protection. If they did not, though, rest assured I would proceed as I intend to nonetheless. So I shall need to know if you will take that risk also.”

The steward studied her for a moment, torn by indecision.

“What is the risk then?” he allowed finally.

“Are you fit?”

“Fit? Oh, aye. I canna swing a claymore in battle anymore, but I am no invalid.”

“Can you dig?”

Chapter 12

An hour later, Jane waited on the main road mounted atop her gelding. Around the bend and ahead of her was the ridge where the English sentry was still posted to stand guard, preventing the MacGillivrays from claiming the remains of their dead.

And in the forest, concealed among the pines somewhere behind the ridge in roughly the same spot where she had first happened upon Robbie, Tearlach was creeping ever closer to the men.

She waited the agreed-upon length of time, hoping fervently that Tearlach had encountered no difficulty. Then she stepped off her gelding and led him off the road and into the surrounding heather. She peered through the dense foliage, looking for some distinguishable feature like a rock or a log she might recognize again later. Spying a small pile of stones that jutted up from the heather, she headed towards it.

From the pocket of her cloak, Jane withdrew a large and ornately crafted necklace of gold from which hung a magnificent sapphire. The piece had been part of her dowry, and it was one which Lord Reginald had allowed her to keep to wear on fine occasions. She was not allowed to handle it unless he said so—he’d made that very clear. She placed the necklace underneath the stones and prayed she’d be able to find it again, for though Lord Reginald had never laid a hand on her before now, she did not doubt for a moment that he’d flay her something grand if she did.

The next part of their plan made Jane’s palms sweat, for she was not accustomed to handling horses other than to ride them, and then at no more than a canter. Heading her gelding back to the road, she wound the reins around her left forearm and gripped them tightly. With one deep breath for courage, she raised her right hand and swung it in an arc, slapping the gelding in the flank as hard as she could.

Her hand stung like fire from the force, and the gelding reared up on his hind legs and whinnied loudly in protest Jane darted to the side, narrowly missing a clip on her shoulder with his hoof when he came down. She hung onto the reins, struggling with the skittish horse. The heels of her shoes ploughed the trodden dirt underneath her as she fought for traction against the gelding’s force.

“Shhh, shhh. I’m sorry boy, I’m so sorry,” she soothed, trying to calm the beast. Her hands shook as she stroked his thick, ropy neck.

The gelding stomped his hooves in the dirt and snorted his displeasure, but eventually he accepted her apology and settled down.

And the poor, startled animal had done exactly what she’d hoped: his protesting whinny had rung loud and clear over the highland landscape—signalling to Tearlach that she was in position and would now intervene to distract the guarding sentry.

She wasted no time. Hopping back onto the horse, she trotted him around the bend.

The soldier—a different one still from the two she’d seen previously—eyed her warily as she approached.

“Excuse me sir, I wonder if you might be of assistance.”

“What is the trouble, Baroness?” he returned with an obligatory bow.

Jane cursed inwardly—he recognized her. She hoped he would not have occasion to mention this encounter to anyone who might bring it to Lord Reginald’s attention.

“My horse became spooked by a vole and, strangely, when he reared, my necklace became unclasped and flew off my neck into the heather.” She laughed nervously as the soldier narrowed his eyes in response. She added, “I am fearful of tearing my fine dress. It was a present from the baron, you understand, and he shall certainly be disappointed if I damage it. Would you be so kind as to help me find my necklace?”

The soldier pursed his lips, considering. Then with a shrug of his shoulders, he trudged forward, his chainmail swishing lightly as he walked. Jane turned her gelding, and with one backwards glance to the vast, surrounding forest, she led the soldier away.

“It landed somewhere over there,” she said, pointing in the general direction where she’d hidden the piece.

She watched, on edge, as the soldier lumbered unenthusiastically into the brush and began foraging through the dense foliage. Several times he popped his helmeted head up, indicating his exasperation, but Jane nodded her encouragement. Reluctantly, the soldier returned to his foraging.

After much time had passed, she could delay no longer. Several times the sentry had suggested that Invercleugh’s commanding officer would put him in the stocks for abandoning his post.

“I think I see a glistening—there by that pile of stones,” she called.

The soldier looked up at her, breathing heavily from his exertion, and followed the line of her arm to where she pointed. Groaning, he stalked through the heather to the rocks and, easily finding the necklace, retrieved it and brought it to her.

“Will you be alright from ‘ere, Baroness? Only I best return t’ me post,” he said, walking with backwards steps as he spoke.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your help, sir,” she answered, smiling gratefully.

The soldier turned and trudged back to the ridge, and Jane led her gelding onto the road and took him back the way she’d come. It was with effort that she did not kick him into a gallop in order reach Tearlach—anxious was she to learn whether or not he’d managed to complete his objective.

When she made it through the forest to the rear of the valley, Tearlach was waiting for her. At his feet was what she presumed to be the body of Connall, draped in the steward’s cloak. Tears streamed from Tearlach’s eyes and down his weathered cheeks; he made no attempt to hide his sorrow or to wipe his tears away.

“I didna think it wise that ye should see him as he is now,” he explained. “The lad has begun to decompose somewhat. They all have.”

She knew that Tearlach spoke the truth, for a thick stench wafted on the air from the horde of dead men beyond the trees. It was such a strong and offensive odour that she was forced to breathe through her mouth to keep from retching.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed. “Come, let us put him on the gelding. Have you any idea where we might bury him?”

“Aye,” Tearlach answered. “I ken a place.”

He bent and lifted the body of Connall up as tenderly as if he was a sleeping child. The cloak mercifully covered Connall’s face from Jane’s view, but she could still see his arms and his hands as Tearlach moved him. Though the flesh was discoloured, it did not frighten her. Rather, it heightened her sorrow, and strengthened her conviction that what she and Tearlach were doing could not be wrong, whatever Lord Reginald might decree.