Page 40 of Claimed Highland Brides

18

STRAMASH

T hey rode into Drumacree three days later with Maegan visibly drooping. Although it was barely twilight and therefore there was still plenty of light for traveling, Delwyn knew he had to stop. He thought about maybe leaving his sister at the inn and going on by himself. After all, he didn’t know what he would find when he got to the keep. The problem was, he could not trust Maegan to stay put. For all he knew, she might go in search of Hunter. After all, she fancied herself in love with him.

“We shall rest here for tonight but we leave at first light,” he told her as they alighted their horses in the courtyard of the inn. Delwyn was glad that the abductors had refused his gold because he was able to comfortably pay for two adjoining rooms at the inn, on the ground floor. That way, they would hear anyone coming for them and escape through the kitchens.

“Understood.” Maegan walked away, skirts swishing. At the door to the inn, she stopped and turned. “I feel quite filthy. Would you have them bring me water to bathe?”

“Of course, Sister.” Delwyn immediately went in search of the innkeeper to make his requests. He thought it best that they sup in their chambers as well. Less chance of garnering attention that way that might lead to them being found.

He found the publican in the taproom, serving drinks to patrons. With a smile, he made his requests and the man hollered for his wife, who came bustling into the room, wiping her hands on a large white apron that was wrapped around her waist.

“Aye, ye need something, sir?” Her cheeks resembled shiny red apples as she smiled.

“My sister would like some water to bathe and we would like some food brought to our chambers, please.” He shook some gold into her waiting hand as he said it.

“O’course. I expect she feels quite grimy after a long journey. Whereabouts are ye from?”

Delwyn didn’t want to answer any personal questions. However, he was surprised that the publican’s wife did not recall him seeing as he’d stayed here before. But then he remembered that he had spent his time being as unobtrusive as possible so as not to draw attention to himself.

“We are just on our way home,” he said quietly, before stepping to the side so as to walk past her. “Excuse me. I also need to clean up.”

“Och aye. I’ll have my girls bring ye some hot water as well.”

“Thank you.” He kept walking even as he called behind him. He turned his head to face front and almost bumped into a woman who had blocked his path.

“Oh…” He stopped short, eyes widening as he looked at her.

“Lord Barton, we need to speak.”

He blinked at her in surprise, quite sure he’d never seen her before. She was relatively young with long clumpy hair and unusual eyes. “Who are you?”

“My name is Aifric and I need tae speak t’ye.”

“Regarding?”

To his surprise, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along to his chambers, flinging him in and closing the door behind him. He raised his hands quellingly. “Stop—I am a married man.”

The woman snorted. “I’ve nae designs on yer body, Lord Barton. I come tae warn ye.”

“Warn me? About what?”

“Yer bride will be needing yer help shortly. An’ if ye dinnae hurry, she may lose the child.”

Delwyn’s mind swirled and he sunk onto the bed in shock. “Wife…child?” He blinked at Aifric several times, unable to assimilate what she was saying. “Are you saying…? Is she…?”

The woman sighed impatiently. “Yer wife’s been taken. Ye ken by whom. O’course the castle will arrange a rescue but by the time they get here, it shall be too late. So ’tis up tae ye.”

“How do you know these things?” His breath came short and his vision went in and out with fear.

“I am a wise-woman.”

Delwyn’s brow furrowed, not really understanding. He’d heard of wise women as pertained to Scottish lore. But he had not realized they were not just a story told to impressionable children. He wondered if perhaps this was a trap set by the abductors to recapture them.

But why would they bother? Why not just come themselves? I am clearly outnumbered .

“We have nae time for yer prevaricating sir! We have tae hurry. They’re riding intae town as we speak. They wilnae stop here. Not in this town where yer wife is well known. They will pass intae the night and disappear intae the brush and ye’ll no be able tae find her.”

Delwyn’s heart beat fast and he forgot all his doubts. “What must I do? Where can I find them?”

* * *

Fiona woke up to frantic knocking on her door. She sat up, rubbing her eyes as she turned to Daividh. They’d had a late night after seeing Simon and his warriors off, clinging to each other as they tried to forget Jamesina’s pain and feeling guilty for the fact that it was not them.

She shuffled out of bed and went to the door, opening it a crack and surprised to see Jamesina’s lady’s maid looking frantic.

“What is it, Freya?”

She thrust a piece of paper at Fiona. “Jamesina is no in her chambers. I cannae find her anywhere. There seems tae have been a struggle. I dinnae ken?—”

“Calm yersel’ Freya and haud yer wheesht so I can read the note.”

She unfolded it, eyes getting wider with every word. Mustering up some self-control she looked up at Freya. “Would ye go and wake the other lassies, Freya? Tell them tae wait for me in the dining hall.”

Freya nodded. “Aye, ma’am. Right away.” She hurried off, seeming relieved to have something to do. As soon as she disappeared, Fiona turned to Daividh.

“Wake up!” she yelled. “Daividh, get up! A terrible thing’s happened. Jamesina has been abducted!”

* * *

Every muscle in her body was screaming as she bounced up and down on the horse. She had tried to stay stoically silent but it was too much. “Please, let me up. I shallnae run. Or at least, untie my hands and legs. Please, sir! Ma’am?”

She could not see the people who were riding along with her. All she knew was that there were multiple horses around her, surrounding her. She felt weak, faint, nauseous. Her level of discomfort was such that she wished that she could faint dead away and escape from her pain. She felt every step the horse took like a knife to her side.

She turned, seeing the small cottage that marked the entrance to Drumacree and heaving a sigh of relief. Once she was in the town, it would be easy to get help. Many people knew her and her family. They would not stand for this mistreatment of her.

To her horror, the group turned onto a tiny path not ten meters before the cottage.

“No! No!” Jamesina could not help her screaming, she was just so frustrated. “Where are ye taking me?”

“Haud yer wheesht!” a male voice growled to her right and a huge black boot came in sight of her face. She was lightheaded from lying upside down and dizzy. She scrunched her eyes shut, praying that something or someone would come to her rescue. She felt strongly that she was in extreme danger even more than the thought of being abducted. Her body was warning her that it could not stand much more and if it was forced to, something bad would happen.

“Please, please, please, let me sit up.” She was crying and begging with no thought of pride or bravery. The alarm bells did not stop ringing and so she did not stop begging.

Suddenly the horses stopped and she heard hurried, irritated footsteps heading her way. She held her breath and almost cried with relief when someone cut the ropes holding her legs and hands together.

“Thank ‘e. Thank ‘e.” She tried to straighten herself up but her limbs had gone dead. The man made an impatient sound and pulled her around like she was a sack of potatoes. She made a protesting sound but was too weak to do much else. He straightened her up on the horse, her legs falling to each side. She tried to sit up but felt quite faint and began to list to the side. Nobody tried to help her as she almost slid right off the horse so she grabbed onto his mane and held on tight, pulling herself upright that way. The horse whinnied and jerked in annoyance, almost breaking loose from the man who held his bridle.

There was a shout of alarm and anger from the men around her and someone slashed a whip across her bosom. She gasped in pain, doubling over. “Ye try tha’ agin and we’ll have the horse pull ye along from behind. Dinnae think ye can play wi’ us Mistress Barton .”

She blinked a few times, looking around to see if she might recognize any of their faces. They all had kerchiefs tied around their mouths and noses, their heads covered with scarves, shawls, and arisaids. Trying to breathe shallowly through the pain, she dropped her head, keeping a hand firmly in the horse’s mane as they resumed their journey.

They seemed to be heading downhill towards a thick copse of trees that sat in a valley between two hills.

Is it a hideout? If they mean tae ransom me I suppose they dinnae want tae go far. Perhaps Daividh will be able tae track me. He’s a good hunter .

But then she remembered that if these men were what was left of the Hunter clan, then they knew that Daividh was a good tracker and would certainly not make it easy for him to follow. A wave of homesickness swept through her as she thought of her warm bed, the keep probably just stirring, fires lit, and food being prepared for breakfast. Her stomach rumbled at the thought even as she felt nauseous.

She’d been ignoring the vomiting that had become part of her morning routine of late, too worried about other things. But now that she thought about it, she remembered that Fiona was the same when she was pregnant with the twins. She stiffened with surprise and wonder.

Is it possible? Could I be…heavy with a bairn ?

She didn’t know whether to be happy or miserable at this realization. The hand not holding onto the horse’s mane slipped slowly around her waist, cradling her stomach tenderly.

I wilnae let anything happen tae ye .

She straightened up on the horse, back stiffening, legs tightening around the horse’s flanks, to hold her steady. She still felt lightheaded, sick, and weak, but she refused to let it sway her. She began to pay attention to the path they were on.

I cannae wait tae be rescued. If I get the opportunity, I have tae run .

She would rather brave wild boars and rutting stags than stay with these people one minute more than she had to.

“M-may I-I have some water please?” she asked the bundle of cloth riding by her side.

Someone snorted, she could not tell who, although everyone else simply ignored her.

“This isnae an inn,” a voice growled from behind her, “and we are nae at yer service.”

“I dinnae say ye are, sir. It’s just tha’ my throat is parched an?—”

“Haud yer wheesht or I shall haud it for ye,” the man snapped and Jamesina fell silent again. Ten minutes later, they came upon a small burn. The man called a halt and pulled her roughly from her horse.

“Ye have two minutes tae drink.”

* * *

Aifric said that she would provide him with a guide.

“What about weapons? All I have is this knife that I grabbed from an inn kitchen as we came. I need a sword.”

Aifric sighed, reaching down to lift her gown. Delwyn looked away. He heard the swish of a knife being withdrawn from its sheath and turned back curiously to see her holding a sghian dhu out to him. “’Tis all I have. Ye shall have tae rely on stealth and speed rather than brawn tae get oot o’ this. It shallnae be easy. Are ye sure ye’re up tae the task?”

“My wife’s life is at stake! She is with child, my child. I will get her back or die with her.”

Aifric nodded with satisfaction. “It may well come tae tha’. May God go wi’ ye.”

He nodded his thanks and made out to the stables, grateful that he’d chosen a fast horse. Aifric had promised to keep an eye on Maegan while he was gone and for whatever reason, he trusted her. His guide was a stocky silent man with a full growth of beard and hair so thick he resembled more of a bear than a man.

He was already on a sorrel-colored horse and holding a wooden staff in hand. Delwyn might have been amused by him in other circumstances. In this case, however, he simply went into the stables, fetched his already saddled horse, and rode back out.

“Lead the way.” He gestured for the man to precede him. “What should I call you?”

“We wilnae be talkin’. Sound travels,” the man said softly.

“Yes, I understand. However, will you do me the courtesy of giving me a name?”

“Goraidh.”

“Thank you, Goraidh. My name is Delwyn.”

Goraidh simply grunted, spurring his horse forward to head to the outskirts of the town. Delwyn wanted to ask him how he knew where to go but he remembered what the man said about sound carrying and so he followed him quietly, eyes sharp for any movement that might signal trouble.

As they approached the border of the town, he noticed a lone man standing by a lamppost, arms folded, dressed in multiple layers of clothing. Goraidh stopped by his side and they muttered together in Gaelic.

“A band headed into Peighinn-á-bhaile. ’Tis a copse of trees in th’ bottom of a valley. We’ve long suspected tha’ the Hunters made a camp there. We mun’ find them before they reach the camp.”

Delwyn nodded calmly. “We best be on our way then.”

The cloth-covered figure extracted from his or her person a long gleaming sword, the hilt emblazoned with a ruby. Handing it to Delwyn, the person looked up at him as he hesitated to take it. “Neacel Hunter killed my father and took my mother. I have been waiting for his retribution for a long time.”

To his shock, Delwyn realized that the person was a young girl. He nodded resolutely. “I shall do my level best to give it to you.”

The girl nodded and stepped back. He and Goraidh continued on their way.