Page 10 of Echoes of a Forgotten Warrior (A Highland Ruse of Love #2)

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J ames had kept his promise and joined the forces of Laird Sutherland, and as soon as he felt a sword in his hand for the first time, he knew it was meant to be there. In fact, it felt so comfortable that it seemed to be part of him. They routed many Lovatt troops, but they were not active all the time, and after a day when they had done nothing but scout around looking for the enemy but found nothing, he felt utterly exhausted and deeply frustrated.

They struck camp under a group of trees beside a burn and lit a fire, on which they cooked rabbits and drank weak ale. There were also bannocks, cheese and fruit, since the kitchens at Rosskern Castle always kept them well supplied.

There was a feeling within James that he was in the right place, that the battlefield was where he was meant to be. He was not aggressive in his daily dealings with others, but when he was defending himself, the sleeping dragon inside him woke up and breathed the fire of his anger on his enemies.

Occasionally, a flash of a memory assailed him, bringing back visions of a horse and rider galloping towards him, or a sword sweeping down to strike him, only for him to parry it and knock the swordsman off his feet. He had found that he was a skilled swordsman, since he had a long reach, and was agile and light on his feet, despite his size. Best of all, he could predict just what his opponent was going to do the moment he raised his sword.

James had many glimpses of what he thought was his past, but he could never be sure if they were real or if he was imagining things. Yet when he was with his men, he seemed to know instinctively what to do, and they were always willing to follow his lead, even though he was not their official commander. That duty belonged to the Captain of the Guard, but James was not being vain when he recognised that he had a natural ability to lead men, and they would usually obey him. It was a stunning realisation. Had he been a leader of men at some time in his past?

James had not been sleeping well, due mainly to the fact that his nightmares had come back, but he tried to assuage his misery by thinking of Blaire and remembering the short time they had been together. The last thing he thought of every night was the softness of her lips against his, the earthy musk of her body, and the blissful feel of her hands on his body. Those moments had been sublime.

However, the dream always morphed into something infinitely more sinister, as he ran to the carriage he thought was coming to take him to safety and instead dived into complete blackness. It was at this point that he usually woke up, shivering and sweating, as he was doing now. He had been sleeping on the ground with quite a few of the other guards close beside him, so his restlessness had been noticed.

“Same dream again, eh, Jimmy?” one of his men asked sympathetically, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Aye,” James answered, running a hand backwards through his hair. “Always the same. They never stop.”

His friend, a man in his thirties called Bearnard Murray, had some sympathy for him, since a childhood trauma had left him with the same problem for years. “I know, Jimmy,” he said sadly. “But mine went away after a while, I’m sure yours will tae. There was a time when I thought they would never leave me, but here I am, hale an’ hearty. Ye just have tae have patience, an’ if ye need anybody tae talk tae, I am here for ye.”

James smiled at the other man’s kindness. “Thank you, Bernie,” he said gratefully. “That means a lot to me.” He had a thumping headache, and wished Blaire was with him so that she could give him some willow bark tea to alleviate the pain. However, as the situation stood, he knew he would just have to endure it.

It was the darkest part of the night, the time when all James’s demons came out of the shadows, either in the form of his nightmares or the constant worrying about them.

He knew it would be unlikely he would sleep again, so he began to think of Blaire, imagining that she was lying down beside him. He felt no desire at that moment, only the wish to tell her he loved her and to hear her say those same words to him.

Surprisingly, after a few moments, James’s eyes began to drift closed, but his doze did not last long as he felt himself being shaken awake a few minutes later. He opened his eyes and sat up, to see the men milling around, looking worried and angry. He rubbed his eyes and stood up, then asked, “Has something happened?”

Bearnard came over to him. “Aye,” he replied, his face creased in a deep frown. “Yesterday, one o’ our supply wagons was ambushed an’ the food stolen. There were two people in it; the driver an’ a young woman. The driver managed tae get away, an’ he told our Captain that the woman was a healer, but he didnae ask her name. The Lovatts have her.”

For a moment, James froze with fear, then he asked, “Did he tell you what she looks like?”

The Captain of the Guard, a tall man called Gerald Gibson, came up to them just then. “He said the young woman was very pretty. Beautiful, he said. He told me she had green eyes, an’ long curly brown hair. He said she spoke well an’ was very polite.”

James felt rage boiling up inside him until he could contain it no longer. “Her name is Blaire,” he growled. “She is the village healer. And the woman I love.”

The men turned to him, most of them looking surprised and shocked, and a few were angry, since many of them were acquainted with Blaire, and knew the kind of compassionate person she was. She would also be a great loss to them. Although her mentor Rosina was also a healer, she could never be persuaded to help the wounded men on the battlefield.

“We will have to get her back,” James said grimly. “I will do it.”

“You cannot go alone,” the Captain of the Guard told him. “It is too risky. They might strike you first and ask questions later. We will have to think of another plan.”

“But if I go alone, perhaps I can sneak into the castle,” James countered. “It cannot be too difficult.”

His friend Bearnard put a hand on James’s shoulder and looked at him intently. “That isnae possible, Jimmy,” he said gently. “Have ye seen the walls on that place? It’s got about fifty guards outside an’ there might even be another fifty inside, an’ they a’ hate us. ‘Tis better tae think o’ another way o’ daein’ it.”

James was furious. “You mean fifty of us going in to take on fifty of them and filling up another bath with blood?” he demanded. His face was a mask of rage.

“Or we could just leave her there,” one of the other men suggested. “There is bound tae be another healer somewhere round about.”

James almost dived on the other man and pulled him up by the front of his shirt so that they were face to face. “No!” he roared. “Blaire is the best there is. Ask anybody!”

“Enough!” Gerald Gibson shouted, as he moved forward and forcefully separated the two men. “Stay here, Smith. That is an order, an’ I will say nae more about it!”

James stepped back, but he carried on glaring at the other man for another full minute before he turned away.

It took a while before everyone settled down again, but eventually James heard the sound of soft, regular breathing and heavy snoring, indicating that the rest of the company had gone to sleep. However, he waited a little while to make sure before he crept silently past the others and out into the cold night. There were guards outside, but they were almost falling asleep themselves, and he had no trouble finding his way past them.

The horses were tethered a little way away from the camp, and James carefully untied his mare, Maisie, thanking the stars that she was a biddable, even-tempered beast. He decided to walk her for a few hundred yards to minimise the sound of her hoofbeats, and only mounted her when they were well away from the camp.

He was only about a mile away from Strathburn Castle, and travelling by the light of a bright half moon across open ground, James made good speed. Dawn was much later in the winter, and he arrived at the castle just as the sun was rising.

When James saw the massive edifice, he was assailed by a sense of familiarity, and he knew with sudden certainty that he had been to this place before, but for the life of him he could not remember when. He growled in frustration as he studied it, but trying to haul back a memory from long ago was the least of his worries now.

As he stared up at the enormous curtain walls of the castle, he saw that they were lined with guards, each one armed with a pike. Several of them had caught sight of him and were staring down at him, their gazes a mixture of hostility and curiosity.

James realised that hesitation would get him nowhere, and as he watched he became aware that the pair of huge entry gates were opening, giving him a glimpse into the interior courtyard inside. This was his chance.

He was surprised to have been allowed to enter so easily, but he would not argue about it. Three heavily armed guards came out to meet him, each one with his hand on his sword hilt.

Without another thought, and too suddenly to allow the guards to ready themselves, James spurred his horse forward and crashed into the courtyard. He spun her around, waving his sword as he did so, and the men jumped backwards out of his way, yelling at him to dismount. While James was still on horseback, he had an advantage, so the guards tried pulling at his legs to haul him out of the saddle. When they found that tactic to be useless, one of them stood in front of Maisie, who reared up and neighed fiercely, then brought her hooves down with a force that made him leap out of the way just in time to miss being struck.

James was unbalanced and slid backwards, then two of the guards, acting together, dragged him onto the ground and stood over him with their swords pointed at his throat.

James tensed, expecting himself to be sliced open with one of the huge weapons, but the soldiers merely looked at him for a second then exchanged puzzled glances.

“Go an’ find the Laird,” one of them said to the other. The man stood up and strode away, and one of the others came forward to lead Maisie away. He came back a short while later. Another disarmed him, while the third watched warily, ready to intervene if James tried to make any sudden hostile moves. The guard who had taken James’s sword patted him down, searching for any concealed weapons. When he found none, he stepped back.

Then they did the last thing James had anticipated. He had expected them to grab his arms and drag him none too gently into the castle entrance, then perhaps throw him in the dungeon. However, they stood still, gazing at him and looking baffled. It was obvious that something had disturbed them so much they had almost forgotten how to move!

James stared back at them, equally puzzled. They were all strapping, hefty young men who could have overcome him in a second, even though he himself was just as strong as they were. Why, then, were they standing gazing at him like this? None of them looked afraid, merely bewildered.

James was already frightened, since he was quite obviously in mortal danger, but now he was beginning to become angry again. He needed to see Blaire with a longing that was almost unbearable. “Where is he?” he asked impatiently, trying to keep the rage out of his voice.

The guards ignored his question. “Who are ye?” one of the men asked insolently.

“My name is James Smith,” he replied, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

“An’ what is your business wi’ Laird Lovatt?” another asked.

“That is between him and me,” James answered.

“The Laird might be too busy tae see ye,” the man answered. “Ye might be able tae speak tae his son, but ye had better no’ be wastin’ his time.” The words were a warning, but there was an undercurrent of something else there too, and James could not fathom what it was.

James looked around him to see if there was any escape route if he needed one, but he was ringed by heavily armed soldiers, and was utterly trapped. However, he still had one ace up his sleeve; the guard who had patted him down had missed something. Tucked into his long leather boots was a sharp stiletto knife in a scabbard, which he could grab in a split second if he had to.

Minutes passed that seemed like hours. James was exhausted but so tense with anger and anticipation that he knew he would not sleep even if there was a soft feather bed in front of him.

Finally, the guards turned their heads when they heard footsteps approaching, then stood at attention when Finian Lovatt arrived. A second later, someone else appeared beside him: Blaire.

The sight of James had the same effect on Finian as it had on his guards. He stood stock still for a long moment, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. He shook his head and blinked, then continued to stare at James as if he could not believe his eyes.

Blaire had no such hesitation. She took one look at him and gave a cry of delight. “James, you’re here!” and before anyone could stop her, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

He received her with a great sigh of relief, then tightened his arms around her and whispered in her ear: “I love you,” before he let go of her and shoved her behind him to shield her from the guards.

Then he bent down and took the slim, sharp sword out of his boot. “Your guards are not very good at their job, M’Laird.” he said with grim satisfaction.

Blaire was tempted to point out that Finian was not the Laird, but she kept quiet, fearing that whatever she said would make the situation worse; the air was already thick with tension.

Finian did not flinch, simply stood staring at James, not acknowledging what he had just said. It seemed as though he was in a trance.

Blaire stood behind them, looking from one to the other, and began to wonder. Both men were tall, and both had similar eyes, although Finian’s were grey instead of James’s blue. Both had black hair, although Finian wore his much shorter than James. James’s facial features were a little more craggy than Finian’s, but both of them had similar long noses and full lips, and although Finian was lean and James was stocky, the resemblance between them was uncanny.

Now, James stared at Finian, his eyes alight with fury. “I am taking Blaire with me,” he said grimly, “and the first one of you who tries to stop me will get the point of this stiletto in their eye.”

“James, there is no need for this,” Blaire said urgently as she turned his head around so that he was looking into her eyes. “Please calm down and tell him what you want, in fact, now might be a good time to talk about negotiations if you can go back to Rosskern with a message for Laird Sutherland.”

James looked down at her. “I have no interest in talking to him.” He flung out an arm to indicate Finian and his lip curled in disdain. “I only came to get you.”

“But you have no weapons,” Blaire pointed out. “A stiletto cannot match a broadsword.” She looked at Finian again and frowned at the expression on his face. “Finian?” she asked.

Finian took a step forward, and Blaire felt James’s body tense in anticipation of an attack, but Finian held his hand out instead, palm upright, in a gesture of peace. For a moment longer, he held James’s gaze, then he said softly, “Brother.”