Fraser 02 - Highland Quest (12 page)

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.”

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?”

“There were two men reporting back to me, but last night only one returned. The other was captured outside the village by Bruce sympathizers. I sent a party to check out the encampment at first light, but they found it empty. The fire pit was cold, and their tracks led off in all directions.” Dungal downed his ale then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth.

“The ploy to throw the enemy off and to keep them from following has been used for centuries,” Aymer pointed out. “My guess is they moved deeper into Bruce territory, hoping to pick up supporters along the way.”

“Aye,” Dungal agreed. “They eluded us again, but not for long. When we do find them, the battle will be over before it begins. Between your warriors and mine we number over three thousand. At best, the Bruce’s force is a mere five hundred strong, most of them untrained crofters.”

“Never underestimate the enemy, my friend. Look what happened at Methven. Robert let his guard down and we easily defeated him. He and what was left of his army of rabble were on the run for almost a year.” Aymer laughed, then finished his ale. “Good thing I took the precaution of sending a spy of my own. He told me the Bruce is heading to Loudon Hill. A logical choice given it is in the heart of Carrick and a strategic place from which to launch an attack or to make a stand. The Romans used it for the same reason and even built a fort there. The remnants still remain.”

“You dinna appear concerned given they’ve escaped and are headed into Bruce territory.” Dungal stroked his chin.

“It is too late to intercept them, but the flat plain around the base of the hill is an excellent place for a confrontation. We canna possibly lose,” Aymer replied. “I’ll send a messenger issuing a challenge.”

“Do you think they will stay and fight, or turn tail and run? I always thought the Bruce was a coward. He proved it when he ran after Methven and in the way he tricked Red Comyn into meeting him at Grey Friar’s Abbey, then murdered him.”

“Robert will accept. To refuse would make him appear weak, diminishing his chances of ever establishing his reign in Scotland. If he hopes to unite the clans, he has no choice but to face me. Let’s go.” Aymer stood and motioned for his men to join him.

“Meet me at Loudon Hill two days hence, Dungal. I devised a plan and with any luck this will be the last time we fight the Bruce. Once defeated, he’ll hang along with what is left of his men. I suggest you brief your forces and leave as soon as possible.” Aymer turned and left the inn.

“You heard the man. Drink up and we’ll be off.
Slainte
!” Dungal raised his tankard then downed the contents. “The sooner we arrive, the more time we’ll have to prepare for our victory.” Dungal leaned closer to his brother. “We’ll gather supplies from the village stores before we depart. See that the men are armed and ready to ride.”

Fallon watched them leave then backed away from the door. Concerned for Bryce’s safety, she began to pace the length of the kitchen. “I must find a way to warn the Bruce.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Fergus entered the room. “Bryce entrusted me with your safety and you will stay here until he returns.”

Maeve dashed across the plank floor and threw herself into her husband’s arms. She kissed him repeatedly on the cheek, then drew back, and punched him in the chest. “You old fool! What demon possessed you to behave like a reckless buffoon? You could have been killed.”

“I’ll not be dictated to in my own inn. Not by the likes of Dungal MacDougall. They are not welcome and I told them so. They’re gone now and
guid
riddance to the lot of them.” He grasped his wife by the shoulders, kissed her brow, then gently moved her aside. He pointed his finger at Fallon. “And you are not going anywhere, lass. Do you understand?”

“Please. They are in great danger and I must warn them.” Fallon resumed her pacing. She had to reach Bryce.

“I’ll send a messenger. He’ll arrive well before de Valance and the MacDougalls, but dinna
fash
. King Robert was caught in a surprise attack once and he’ll not let that happen again. I’d not be surprised if he wanted the blackguards to follow him.”

The door to the inn opened and Fergus brought his finger to his lips. He quickly poked his head around the corner and blew out a deep sigh. “Take a seat, lads. I’ll be right with you. The first round is on the house. My way of apologizing for the rude way you were tossed out earlier.”

“Nothing like a free drink to make a man forget his anger,” one of the men called in response to Fergus’ offer.

Fergus entered the inn and Maeve approached Fallon. “I know you are concerned about your man, but my husband is right. King Robert willna be fooled again. Now that Dungal is gone and you’re safe, why don’t you go to your chamber and try to get some rest?”

“Nay. I am too nervous to sleep.” Fallon picked up an empty tray. Maeve was right. The danger had passed now that Dungal was on his way to Loudon Hill, but she’d not rest until the messenger reached Bryce with his warning.

“I’ll help clean up the mess left by our unwelcome visitors.” She was at the door before Maeve could protest and despite Fergus’ icy stare of disapproval, she crossed the room. As she placed the last dirty tankard on the tray, she noticed a dirk on the table. She recognized the ornately jeweled hilt immediately. It was the same blade Dungal had held to her throat before her uncle’s execution. She slid the weapon onto the tray and was about to head to the kitchen when someone flung the door open.

A dark silhouette blocked the light from outside. “I forgot something.”

Fallon shuddered at the familiar cadence of Dungal’s voice and dropped the tray, spilling the contents of a tankard onto one of the patron’s lap.

“Hey, watch what you’re doing.” The man sprang to his feet and grabbed her by the arm. “You need to get a serving wench who can handle the duties, Fergus.”

Fallon didn’t respond, her eyes remaining fixed on the figure standing in the doorway. “Dungal,” she muttered under her breath.

She watched her enemy storm across the floor, the wooden planks creaking with each of his strides. He clutched her other arm and yanked her free of the patron’s grip. “Sit and finish your drink or you’ll answer to me.” He waited for the man to comply before focusing on Fallon. “I never thought I’d run across you again. Good thing I returned for my dirk.” Without releasing her, he plucked the weapon off of the floor and slid it into the sheath at his hip.

“I suspect you are the one informed the Bruce we were coming. You lied the first time I questioned you and so did your uncle. I should have cut your throat when I had the chance.”

“I dinna know what you are talking about.” Fallon tried to wrench free of his grasp. She stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact. “I dinna know the Bruce or where to find him. How could I warn him of anything?”

“Still the coy minx.” Dungal tightened his hold, his menacing grin darkening to an evil scowl. “You betrayed me once, and no doubt you intend to do so again. I must say, the fact you arrived before us surprises me. Who helped you?”

“What’s taking so long?” Dungal’s brother and one of his cousins returned. “I was beginning to worry, but see why you dally.” His brother joined him. “This is the same lass we met in Galloway, the one who helped Fraser to escape.”

“Unhand the lass. She happened along a few days ago, looking for work and lodging. We needed a serving wench, so we took her in. She did nothing to warrant this assault.” Fergus spoke up, his voice never wavering.

“She should have been hanged along with her uncle, an oversight I intend to rectify. As for you, the English should have finished you off at Sterling. I grow tired of your interference. Arrest him.” Dungal waited until his brother and cousin flanked Fergus and grasped his arms.

“On what charge and by whose authority do you arrest him?” Fallon challenged. “He committed no crime.”

“His kind never needs a reason.” Fergus struggled unsuccessfully against his captors.

“Housing or aiding a fugitive is a punishable offense, as you are well aware. We also have every reason to suspect Fergus has been conspiring with and offering aid to Robert the Bruce,” Dungal replied.