Page 16 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

“ T here?” Maisie gawked at Lucas. “Yer suggesting that we sleep in there ?”

“Unless ye want to sleep on dirt with a horse blanket,” Lucas nodded. “Aye.”

Looking at the rickety old shack that was sagging one side, she said, “A strong wind will blow it down and bury us inside.”

The shack certainly appeared abandoned, weather-beaten and derelict, stones were missing from the walls, and it had a thatched roof—in places. God forbid that it rained that night.

“It’s a death trap,” Maisie grated.

“Nay,” Ian said as he skirted the shack, “It has some good bones about it. I ken it can suffice for the night.”

Gently descending the horse, he helped Maisie down and they approached the shack, Maisie with trepidation.

Lucas pulled the latch and tugged them both into the musty shack.

Aside from moss and ferns sprouting out the dirt floor and daylight peeking through a section roof, it was spacious enough.

There was even a mounted section where the remains of a bed rested, and a pit fire was dug in the ground near it.

“Looks like an old shepherd’s hut,” Ian mentioned.

“It’ll suffice,” Ian said while looking around. “We’ll have a fire going an’ pray that nay rain will come our way this night.”

With her arms wrapped around her middle, Maisie looked around, “Shall we settle down.”

“I’ll take first watch after I get some firewood,” Ian offered while taking his sword out and leaning it on the side of the ramshackle door before he headed out.

“I’ll take the second.” Oliver nodded and went to a corner of the hut, dropping his pack.

Lucas pulled out another sack and doled out bread, cheese, slivers of roasted beef and roasted mutton for them to eat. While they ate, he kept an eye on Maisie and while she ate some, he doubted she was full and they had only stopped at midday to eat.

Oliver went to the corner and propped his sword between his legs, before leaning back to tilt his head on the wall and seemed to go to sleep.

“Can one go to sleep so easily?” Maisie whispered.

“When yer a soldier, it’s almost second nature,” Lucas replied, dusting off his hands.

“We go on raids, on hunting trips, on birlinns down the loch and out into the sea for days. Kenning how to go to sleep in a few shakes is the only thing that keeps ye from dying on a battlefield or getting run through by a wild boar.”

She blinked. “I once saw a man who hadnae slept for a sennight. He was mad as a march hare, and we had to force to him to drink valerian root.”

“Why was he awake?”

“I cannae tell,” Maisie shrugged. “But I suspect a wrong mix of infusions.”

“Ye really do want to be a healer, innit?” Lucas asked as he went to remove the old straw mattress and chuck it to a corner. He swept the dry fronds from the stand, and began to lay down a set of blankets and rolled up a towel for a pillow.

“I feel it is my life’s calling,” she replied while settling down. “I cannae see anyone in pain.”

Yet, ye live with it every day.

He reached over and tucked a lock of her hair behind Maisie’s ear. “That’s remarkable of ye.”

She smiled, a bare curl of her lips. “T’would be more remarkable if I do achieve it.”

“We have some seasoned healers back at me clan,” Lucas said. “Mayhap ye could train with one of them, if, on happenstance, yer faither does disown ye.”

Her lips ticked down and she shook her head, “I’d rather nay borrow trouble. If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to take yer offer.”

She tilted her head away from the wall and slipped off to sleep, and Lucas sat there, silently admiring her face while she slept. Even when Ian came in with the kindling and had the fire going, Lucas did not shift his gaze.

The firelight glowed against her fair skin, casting shadows over her brows and throwing her cheekbones into sharp definition. Maisie’s porcelain skin had to be softer than satin and his fingers itched to touch it. Though dressed in men’s clothing, no woman could ever look more beautiful.

While Ian ate, he asked, “Ye’ve changed yer mind about her, havenae ye?”

“Aye,” he replied, tearing his gaze from her. “I kent she would be just like her faither, but she is the opposite. While he wants war, she craves peace an’ honestly, I am starting to ken that this feud has gone on long enough.”

“She changed ye that much?”

“Surprisingly, aye,” Lucas shifted so Maisie rested on the pallet but he found a seat at the end.

“Fighting with her father’s men an’ besting them all the while was enjoyable but now, it makes no sense.

None of us can prove the origin of the feud and if it takes Maisie and me to end it, I’ll happily do so. ”

“How?” Ian asked, “By marriage?”

Something hot and sharp cut through Lucas’s chest at the suggestion, but he shrugged coolly. “Daenae ye be jumping that far, Ian. Let’s survive this battle first.”

Moray Firth

“Barclay!” Angus Hendry roared from the tree line towards the house on the edge of the sea.

Dawn had barely cracked, and the sky was still gray when he and his party of six had arrived at the house Heather had guided them to.

His body trembling with rage and the urge to finally get the upper hand on the damn Barclay.

“Come out ye sniveling swine and hand me daughter over!”

The surge of the sea was his only reply. Nothing came from the house, not a sound, not a flicker, and no movement whatsoever. Fury marked Laird Dunn’s face and he grabbed the pommel of his claymore. “Get out here, ye miserable dog!”

When no answer came again, Angus spun to Heather, who was standing by his side and twisting her hands. Narrowing his gaze, the furious laird demanded, “Are ye sure this was where ye and Maisie were held?”

“Aye, me laird,” Heather nodded, as fear began to wrap around her heart. “I am sure of it.”

“McGrie!” Angus yelled to his man-of-war. “Get yer men and break that door down!” He then turned to Heather, “If ye are lying to me, I promise ye, ye’ll pay for it.”

“I havenae,” she swallowed just as McCrie kicked the door open and three men rushed into the house before Angus followed them.

Heather hedged up the doorway but even before she heard the laird’s furious shout, she knew the Barclay laird, his men, and Maisie were gone. She stepped aside from the doorway as the men came out and shrunk into herself when the laird came out last.

“Ye—” he jabbed a finger at her, “—are useless, just like yer mistress. Nay one is here an’ ye’ve made me look like a dobbering fool!”

“They were, I swear it,” Heather cried. “This is where they were. Miss Maisie was held upstairs, and I was held in the rooms below.”

“There is nay sign that anyone was here,” the laird snarled. “Every room looks abandoned for years. There are even coats of dirt on the floor.”

Struck about the revelation, Heather stumbled a few steps. “What? N—no, that’s nay right. It cannae be!”

He shoved past her, “Come on men, let’s head home. This place is worthless. And ye, Miss Cowie, ye will have some answering to do.”

Three days had passed with Maisie and Lucas on the road, keeping close to the road but just out of sight.

At Lucas’s sudden change of direction, they slept and ate in the woods during the day and traveled at night.

During those days though, Lucas had started teaching her how to handle the dagger, not only to defend herself but to kill as well.

On the fourth night, they had crossed over Mackenzie lands and were near the Chisholm territory when they came to the inn Oliver had mentioned. This place stood at least three stories and had two wings that ate up most of the large land it was built on.

The vivid red of the sunset glinted off the red clay tiles on the roof turning bloody under the glare of the rays and Maisie—though hardly gullible, prayed it was not an omen. Even from halfway down the road, the sound of fiddling and the loud booms of laughter confirmed that the inn had patrons.

As they neared, she saw that only the left wing was alight with activity, and through the windows spotted women with low-cut bodices weaving through the tables of games of dice and cards with pitchers of ale.

Lucas helped her down but just before they headed in, he said, “Lass, Oliver told me a way we can keep our identities a secret and let the lady into our plight. If we go by the names Hector and Coira Andrews, she kens we needs secrecy and privacy.”

Maisie blinked, “How is that?”

With a hand on her back, Lucas guided her into the inn.

“A few years ago an emissary from Ireland came with a message to give to the king, but kent that if he traveled alone, he would be targeted, so he had a lass with him and they gave those names. The proprietors learnt of their secrecy and held it that anyone who gave those names had to be safeguarded.”

“If anyone kens about that, how would she ken that the matter is serious or nay? Cannae anyone use it?” Maisie asked.

“I must add that I’m told nothing passes by her,” Lucas added as they went inside; Maisie stood to the side while Lucas went to the lady who stood with poise and command over the establishment.

She looked calmly at them and while she looked only once, Maisie had the feeling that nothing escaped her glance.

Maybe Lucas was right, nothing passed her,

“Welcome to me inn, gentlemen and lady,” the lady inclined her head. “How may I help ye?”

“Name’s Hector Andrews and this is me wife Coira—” Lucas said and instantly the lady’s eyes went sharp “—Two rooms, please, place in yer stable for three horses, n’ a spot over yer stable as well for one of me men,” Lucas asked while tugging out a few coins from a pouch.

“A hearty meal tonight and on the morrow, feed for the horses, an’ no disturbance till then. ”

The proprietress gave Maisie a long, level, searching look that made heat spiral up Maisie cheeks. What was she looking for? Even embarrassed, Maisie kept her head up and met the woman’s look with boldness.