The Scotsman (31 page)

“It does not take courage to slaughter the defenseless. It takes vanity and arrogance, as well as a willingness to risk damnation.”

Answering fury leaped in his father’s eyes, and he lashed out, but Nicholas easily avoided the blow. There was the clink of chain mail and his sword against his horse’s side as he jerked back and the earl’s fist met empty air. His horse snorted in alarm, and Nicholas grated through clenched teeth, “As a sworn knight, I took an oath not to be struck without striking back. You are my father and my overlord, but I will not take your fist again.”

“Insolent pup! Get thee hence from my sight and do not darken my hall until you come to me on bended knees and beg my pardon for your audacity.”

“Do not look for me soon. And a word of warning, lest you think yourself safe from reprisal—unless you killed him, Alex Fraser will be here soon enough.”

Sawing on his reins, Nicholas pulled his horse’s head around and set his spurs to him. Hooves pounded over spongy turf as he rode away without looking back. It was true then. Warfield had massacred Fraser’s village, destroying hope for Catherine. All his careful plans, his negotiations and appeals to the Earl of Hereford, his petition to the king—for naught. For if he knew his man,
Alex Fraser would not tolerate the earl’s assault without brutal retaliation.

Now he must ride swiftly to fortify his holdings, for it would not be long until the Scotsman avenged the wrong done him by the earl. And as Warfield’s son and heir, it would surely extend to him, for there was certainly no love lost between them.

That there was no love lost between father and son would not matter.

In truth, though he detested the cause for it, he was fiercely glad of this opportunity to meet Alex Fraser on the field of battle. As much as he hated to admit it, his father was right when he said negotiations were futile. Nothing had been settled nor even come near being settled. Yet that was as much the earl’s fault as anything else, for he would not yield on the matter of the hostages.

In desperation, Nicholas had even considered exchanging the hostages without his father’s consent, and suffering the consequences once Catherine was safely home. But if he had failed, his one chance would be lost forever. As now.…

Bitterly, he reflected on the vagaries of war that oft left a man reeling from unexpected blows. It was the fatal surprises that always caught him off-guard. As with sweet Catherine.

He thought of her and wondered if she fared well, and if she still fancied herself in love with the Scot. No doubt, by now her belly was swollen with a Scottish brat. Had she watched the carnage in the village and known then the full horror of war? All, he had tried to keep her sheltered from it, for her gentle nature had been lent more to dreaming of sweet illusions than the harsh realities that afflicted the world. It had always amused him that despite their shared parentage, he knew only too well how the world worked while she seemed to have
visions only of impossible achievements. She was the sole love and softness he had known in his life, and the thought of losing her forever struck him as hard as a physical blow.

Swearing softly, he considered his options. There was still the chance he could save her, but it would involve the Earl of Hereford. Pulling his lathered mount to a halt on the muddy road that led to his estates, Nicholas deliberated briefly, then turned away from Devlin. If Hereford would lend his ear and his support, Nicholas might yet sway the king to his side, for Hereford’s wife was Edward’s sister. Yea, but ’twould be his final gamble, for now Fraser would be looking for him as well as his father, and if he fell into either of their hands, Catherine would be lost.

The fair winds of April blew soft over Castle Rock, and the hills beyond were bursting with new green and splashes of color from wildflowers. Catherine stood on the ramparts and let the wind blow her hair back from her face, thinking of another time she had stood on castle walls to wait for a returning warrior. It seemed so long ago that she had stood on Warfield’s parapet, waiting for Nicholas, but always in her mind it was the turning point of her Ufe. For when she had run down to meet him in the bailey, she had seen the two captives who set into motion the train of events that changed everything.

Were they still alive, she wondered. No word had come, and if Alex knew, he had not mentioned it to her. It was a piece of his life that he kept apart from her. She had learned not to ask questions when he returned from one of his long absences, usually muddy and stained with blood, a grim light in his eyes and often new scars on his body. It grieved her that they could not commiserate, but he was right when he told her she could not bear to hear of the things that were done.

Ah, sweet Mary, she was such a coward. How did men endure the doing and the knowing, the death all around them? She was weak. But one promise she had wrung from him, and that was his oath that if he met with her brother, he would tell her. Good or bad, that much she would have to know. It was the first question she always asked of him.

Restless, she turned away from the parapet wall and saw Robbie. Her shadow, her constant companion. He was fiercely intent upon guarding her, never far from her side. This time, she did not mind. Oddly enough, she felt indebted to him. For of all of them, she thought Robbie had suffered most. Not just with grief, but guilt. It ate at him, gnawed him with continuous worry so that if she was gone from his sight for more than a moment, he set up a roar. She could not blame him for it.

“Be ye ready, milady?”

Coldly polite, deadly courteous, he kept her at arm’s length. Perhaps he had never truly been a companion, but neither had he regarded her with such austere hostil-ity.

Frowning, she ran a fingertip over the jagged stone of the parapet. “Will you ever forgive me, Robbie?”

He shrugged. “’Tis no’ my place tae forgive ye or no’, milady. I am just set tae watch ye, and tha’ I hae sworn tae do.”

She sighed. “Would it help if I explained to you why I felt I must escape?”

He straightened from his slouch against the wall. “’Tis no’ my affair, milady. Be ye ready?”

She crossed the battlement, but paused to stare through a narrow crenel built into the high wall. In the distance beyond the walls, soldiers of the garrison practiced their marksmanship by firing arrows against a huge butt. Others staged mock combat, all training for war.
Much of Kinnison had been rebuilt, but there were still blackened timbers that pointed skyward from ruins. A cross rose high above the houses and shops, gracing the new church steeple. Inside the chapel beneath a small crypt lay the two bodies of Alex’s children, side by side as they had oft been in life. Main rested nearby, peaceful at last in death.

Robbie had come up behind her, and Catherine turned abruptly, surprising him. He backed away a step, but she moved closer. “I do not apologize for what I did, but I do entreat you to understand that ’twas not to do harm to you or anyone at Castle Rock that I left. It was my own vain pride that pricked me, the shame at thinking I was being made a fool that kindled my escape.”

For a long moment he stared at her, then looked away. New lines creased his weathered face, and his features were sharper than before, more angular. “’Twas Mairi who set ye tae flight. I knew it even then. I should hae told ye better.”

“Told me better? What do you mean?”

His gaze moved back to her, studying her. “He is no’ the kind of man tae do wha’ Mairi said he did. Oh, I grant ye he wa’d think aboot it, but he held his own mother too dear tae ever take from a woman wha’ she isna willing tae give—or take it for the wrong reason. ’Tis no’ in him. I hae seen Alex Fraser fight three men at a time and bring them all down, but he isna a man tae harm those who dinna warrant it. He wa’d never hae taken ye tae his bed if he didna want ye there, milady. no’ tae spite the earl, or even King Edward.” He looked away again. “I should hae told ye, but I didna think a little humility would do ye any harm. And that is my sin, for I knew how ye took wha’ Mairi said tha’ day.”

Catherine scraped her hand over the rough stone. The smell of smoke was in the air, reminding her of that awful
day, a holy week to everyone but her father. It was not something she would ever forget. She looked up, and saw him watching her.

“I understand, Robbie. Perhaps I would have done the same as you did in remaining silent. And for the same reason.”

He nodded, and she left the battlements with him, descending the spiraling stairs to the great hall. The light evening meal was served, and the hall was noisy with soldiers and laughter, and then the inevitable music from the pipes. She had grown used to them, though at first she had hated the wild, primitive music produced by a squeezed bladder of air and a mouthpiece that resembled a flute. Now, she actually enjoyed the gay music that filled the hall of a night.

It was just past dark when a cry came up from the walls, and there was a stir at the doors of the keep. Catherine’s heart beat faster, for none but someone well known to the garrison would be allowed into the castle grounds after dark.

When Alex entered the hall, she did not move, but watched him cross the rushes with his long, familiar strides. Each time she saw him anew, he never failed to set her pulse racing. As he approached, he stopped several times to talk to knights and foot soldiers alike, and she studied him intently. He seemed whole, though muddy, of course, his head bare and his mande draped carelessly over one shoulder. He wore his chain mail and a surcoat, and there was something different about him than she had seen before, an underlying intensity bordering on excitement.

Then he looked up at her from the middle of the hall, and her heart skipped a beat. His mouth curved slightly upward on one side, then his attention was once more claimed by one of the men. It took him much longer than
she would have liked to reach her, and now the entire hall was stirring with ill-kept excitement. Could it be—? Was the long struggle between Scotland and England finally over? Was that the cause of this elation in the faces of these men lining the hall? Her lack of Gaelic had never been missed more sorely, and she waited with growing impatience for Alex to come to her.

Finally he was there, smelling of peat fires and damp wool, but beside her at last. She tried to curb the desire to fling herself at him, still very much aware of the resentment of the people of Kinnison and Castle Rock.

“Milady.” He lifted her hand to his lips, grinning a little at her disgruntled expression. “You are more lovely than even the last time I saw you.”

“And your tongue is more agile. Have you news for me?”

He squeezed her hand. “It was told to me that Lord Devlin has joined Edward in Berwick, in the company of the Earl of Hereford.”

Relief flooded her, and she nodded. So, they had not met in battle. God willing, they never would. “Wilt thou be with us long this time, Sir Alex?”

The courtesies were observed, though she knew that later, when they were alone in the chamber she shared with him, he would dismiss all pretense of formality.

A squire brought an ewer of water and a dry cloth, and Alex washed his hands and dried them before he took his seat beside her. She felt his gaze on her, and slanted him a glance from beneath her lashes.

“Milady, I have other news for you, some of which I have already shared with the men of Castle Rock.” His eyes remained on her face, and she felt the first inkling of dismay at what he may say.

“Pray, share then with me this news….” He was gazing at her so intently, his gray eyes shadowed by his
lashes, and she could not help another dread feeling of premonition.

“All expeditions have ceased, and Edward Bruce and his men have been recalled from Cumberland. There have been summons sent throughout the kingdom calling up men for military service. Bruce is in Torwood Forest, and we are to join him there.”

Searching his face, she held her breath. No, the war was not over at all … it was about to begin. Oh, sweet Mary and all the saints, she feared for the future. For their future.

“When will you leave?” she asked calmly, though her heart was pounding so furiously in her chest that she could barely breathe. “Will it be soon?”

“Aye. We wait only long enough to call up the rest of my men who owe military service. I leave in two days.”

He was watching her closely, but she struggled to hide the despair that was sweeping through her. No, she could not betray her pain, not before all the assemblage who watched and waited for her to stumble. So she held her head up, clinging tightly to her composure, and said softly, “I wish you all Godspeed, sir.”

A faint smile flickered on his mouth, and he leaned close, his voice a low murmur. “Perhaps later, you can wish me more than that, catkin.”

An erratic pulse began to beat, and she flushed at the heated glitter in his eyes. “If you like, sir.”

Her demure reply made him laugh softly and sit back in his chair. “I like, milady. Oh, I like.”

Now a blush stained her cheeks hotly, and she looked away from him. The ebb and flow of conversation wafted around her, and she heard Alex speak to Robbie in Gaelic as was his wont. More food was brought to serve the laird, and he ate sparingly, his discussion with Robbie conducted in a low tone. Bruce’s name was oft mentioned,
and she knew with rising despair that they discussed the coming battle. There was a general air of excitement throughout the hall, with men jubilant at the prospect of leaving Castle Rock to fight the English.