Page 17 of Bride Takes a Charmer (Highland Vows & Vengeance #3)

She continued to peer at the spot betwixt her horse’s ears when she answered, “I know not. He…asked me before I left for Edinburgh and I had not given him an answer. I suspect though that he might have because he made certain threats. It matters not now. Please…do not make me go there, Shaw. We can figure out a way to retrieve Gillian later.”

Shaw glanced at Walen and tipped his chin as a signal for his comrade to move on. “We will continue onward to home after we visit Fassiefern. I do not want ye to worry.”

Sorsha nodded then and nudged her horse forward to follow Walen’s.

Shaw took up the rear of their procession and couldn’t help but wonder what happened at Tor.

His wife had not only appeared reluctant to speak of Rodick’s death, but almost afraid to go into any depth at all.

Had Geoff proposed marriage to Sorsha, or was there more to it?

And why was she so lax about retrieving her daughter?

Sorsha wasn’t the kind of woman to forgo her motherly duty, at least, he didn’t think she would.

Her demeanor alluded to her being a capable mother, one who cared for her child.

Whenever she spoke her daughter’s name, an affectionate shine came to her eyes, followed by a depth of sadness and even distress. She had to be missing Gillian.

Patience , he reminded himself. Sorsha needed his support, not endless questions that would only remind her of what he suspected was a torment of some kind.

Soon enough she would tell him what bothered her, how her former husband had died, and they would find a way to recoup Gillian from the hands of his nefarious warlord cousin and away from Tor.

*

The village of Fassiefern lay ahead on the lane.

Its location on the north side of Loch Eil afforded many travelers to stop on their way northward.

It was a good resting place with a tavern, a kirk for the pious, and various shopkeepers and merchants.

All sorts of foodstuffs were made ready for purchase: meats, meat pies, and a good assortment of breads.

A fishmonger shouted, haggling over the price of a crate of fish with an elder man.

Another merchant sold sacks of wheat, barley, oats, and rye, stacked in rows before the stall.

To the one side of the lane, a small corral held goats, sheep, pigs, and one rather large cow.

Not only did the hawkers sell food goods and produce, but there were all sorts of items for sale: wool, hides, furs, pots, candlesticks, cloths, horseshoes, and nails.

Market day was a busy time for the merchants and both peasants and wealthier clientele crowded the lane.

Their procession was hampered by the flurry of activity and when they reached a small hostel that offered a place to secure their horses while they visited the village, Shaw dismounted.

He helped Sorsha from her mare and together they waited while Walen secured their horses and paid a hostler for a small helping of feed and water.

The weather had improved on their approach to the village and he was gladdened because it would aid in locating the lad.

At the far end of the village sat a whitewashed stone building. Called The Tavern , the inn and mead-house was owned by his comrade, Tom, who welcomed all within its walls. His friend made a good fortune by offering a place for people to rest.

“Let us get sustenance at the tavern. I will ask Tom for news of the lad, and then you will stay here with Walen while I go in search of him.” Shaw opened the door for Sorsha and followed her inside.

Walen trailed after them. He found an empty table at the back of the establishment which gave them a bit of privacy.

A woman wearing a wimple and a stain-covered apron approached and took their order. Shaw requested a pitcher of ale, a basket of fresh bread, and a trencher of cooked chicken. They would have a good supper before they took to the trail again later that day.

“Should we not help you look for the lad?” Sorsha asked.

His gaze shot to Sorsha. “If ye want to help, I would welcome it. Walen, ye will stay here and keep our table. The lad will need a meal before we set off for home.”

“Aye,” Walen agreed almost too eagerly. Shaw gave him a look that told him not to imbibe too much ale. Fortunately, their food arrived a moment later. Walen would have food in his stomach before he could drink much.

In silence, they ate. Shaw was anxious to search for the lad before evening fell. He spotted Tom at a high table where he served drinks to a group of men and went to speak to him.

“Tom, ye be busy this day.”

“Market day is always busy.” The man wore his dark hair pulled back and his beard trimmed short. He was stout yet nimble for he stood on his feet for many hours throughout the day. “Och, I was wondering when ye were going to darken my door. Here for the wee lad, are ye?”

Shaw nodded. “Aye, what does the lad look like and where might he be found?”

“Last I saw ’em, he was holding up by the wall of the kirk’s sacristy.

Ye will probably still find him there unless he’s gone to thieve amongst the people at the market.

Luthor, that is his name, has light hair and blue eyes.

He’s about yay tall,” he said, and held his hand at his waist. Tom picked up a cup and set it beneath the wooden surface of the table. “Can I get ye a drink?”

“I’ve supped, but it grows late, Ye might ask Walen.

I know he’d like a drink. But not too many.

” Shaw shook his head and struck the tabletop with his palm.

“My thanks, Tom. I will go in search of him near the kirk then.” He motioned to Sorsha.

Together, they shuffled through the mass of patrons and left the tavern.

Outside, he took hold of her hand because so many had crowded the way. Along the lane, he protected Sorsha from knaves and pickpockets. His glare alone told those bent on thieving that it wasn’t a wise idea.

At the kirk, he moved around the wall until he reached the back.

There, by the sacristy, he found the remnants of a makeshift bed of hay.

It had to be where the boy slept at night.

On the wall above was a wooden awning of sorts which probably kept the lad dry while he slept.

The sight of the poor conditions disheartened him.

“He is not here and must be about the village.”

Sorsha released his hand. “We shall go in search of him. Know you what he looks like?”

“Tom said he has light hair and blue eyes. The lad is called Luthor. He’s about as high as my hip.

Just keep an eye out for an unkempt lad—probably a thieving one—and we will find him.

” Shaw took hold of Sorsha’s arm and was about to round the kirk to venture onto the lane in the quest of the lad when he spotted someone walking forth.

He scrunched his eyes and discerned that it had to be the lad.

“Luthor!” He shouted a greeting but the lad’s eyes widened before he turned tail and fled.

“Stay by the kirk. I will go after him.” Shaw left Sorsha by the kirk’s entrance and sprinted off to trail the lad. Luthor was fast but Shaw kept a view of him as his small frame meandered through the market crowds.

At the end of the lane, the lad seemed to disappear. Shaw stopped and shifted his eyes about the area, searching for any movement. Beyond him, crates and bales of hay stacked high sat yonder. It was the perfect place for a lad his size to hide.

Before he reached the crates, Shaw heard his name being called. He turned and saw Sorsha approaching as she ran forth holding the hem of her overdress above her feet. “I told ye to await at the kirk.”

“I could not stay there when you might need my help. Where is he?”

Shaw tilted his head toward the crates and pointed ahead. “I think he might have hidden in there.”

“Let me go. The poor lad is probably frightened. He might not be so fearful if I approach him.” Sorsha passed him and crept toward the crates.

She called out, “Good day…be not afraid. I am Sorsha, a friend…and this is Laird Mackintosh. He is a friend of the tavern keeper. Come out, lad, I promise you are safe. We just want to talk to you.”

Shaw noticed the lad’s head move upward from behind a stack of crates.

Only his blue eyes showed as he assessed her, and Shaw beyond.

Apparently deciding they were safe to approach—or perhaps to pickpocket—he emerged.

As the lad cautiously rounded the stack of crates, Shaw noticed how grubby his face appeared.

Indeed, his garments were tattered with tears and stains, and the boots on his feet not only looked too small for him but were worn to the soles.

His wide, fearful eyes stared but he didn’t speak.

Sorsha held out her hand and waved. “Are you Luthor?”

The lad nodded and rubbed his forearm across his face.

“We were told that you are alone. Is that so? Where are your parents?” She knelt near but not close enough to chase him back beyond the crates.

“Taken away, aye, by the sheriff.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that. You are alone! We want to help. Are you hungry?”

Luthor nodded. “Aye.”

“Then come along and we shall get you food to fill that stomach of yours.” She held out her hand and Luthor stepped forward. Sorsha clasped the lad’s hand and led him to the lane.

Shaw remained quiet lest he scare the lad. He followed Sorsha as she walked back to the inn. Aye, his instincts had been right. She was a good mother. He could tell by her soft, comforting chatter. Now, the lad seemed in awe of his wife, probably as much as he was.

Once at the tavern, she entered and approached the table where Walen sat.

She motioned for the lad to sit on the opposite side of the table.

Without hesitation, his big eyes on Walen’s half-finished meal, he slid onto the bench.

Sorsha took the space beside him and Shaw sat across from them, next to Walen.

“Luthor, how old are ye, lad?”

He didn’t look away from the food as he held up five fingers. “Mama said I was born in a great summer storm.”

“You will soon be six years, then,” Sorsha told him. “You are far too young to be out here alone.”

The lad nodded and swiped at his lips with his forearm. The poor boy was so hungry, he was drooling. And Shaw wasn’t the only one to notice it. Walen pushed the trencher of food toward the lad and nodded to him. “Eat your fill, lad, help yourself.”

Luthor pulled the trencher closer, took the largest piece of bread, and eyed the chicken as if unable to believe that, too, was included in the invitation.

Walen gestured to the chicken with his eating knife.

“Laird Mackintosh helps lads by providing them with a home on his clan’s land.

Would you be amiable to coming home with us?

You will have a roof over your head and food and will not have to beg or scrounge for a meal. That sounds good, does it not?”

Luthor fell onto the chicken, cramming it into his mouth with both his dirty hands. Finally, with grease on his chin, he answered, nodding vigorously but still eyeing them warily. “Aye, och I will not be here when Mama and Papa return.”

“You expect them to come back?” Shaw asked.

The lad lowered his head, and then after a pause shook it. “Nay, they been gone long,” he said softly and sorrowfully. Then he lifted his face to stare directly at Shaw. “Will ye make me a slave? I heard some lads are slaves for—”

“Of course not,” Shaw spoke up. His heart was full of sorrow for the lad.

He’d often heard similar tales. It was one reason why he’d decided to help orphaned or abandoned boys.

“When a lad comes to stay with us, he is given a choice of labor. Some opt to take arms training. Some find farming more suitable. Others work with the smith or in the kitchens, or in the stables, or with other servicemen within the clan. The choice is yours, lad.”

A smile widened over his small, but dirty face. “Do ye mean that I could wield a sword?”

Shaw chuckled because Luthor was akin to most lads, aspiring to be a warrior. “Not right off, lad, but aye, when ye are strong enough to do so. Is that what ye wish, to be part of the regiment of soldiers?”

“My papa fought for the king, he did. The sheriff took my mama and papa away.” Luthor lowered his face, sniffled, took a handful of chicken, and shoved it into his mouth.

“I am sorry to hear that, lad. Maybe in time we can find out what happened to them and help you reunite. Until then, we can offer a safe place to live.”

Luthor snatched another piece of bread and ate it. “I will work hard at arms training, Laird.”

Shaw reached across the table and patted the lad’s shoulder. “I know ye will.”