Page 18 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

17

A listair kept a keen ear for the enemy ahead. He led his warriors through the woods, wanting to surprise the bastards who'd laid siege to Ramsey Castle. An inkling of guilt about leaving the lass behind filtered through his mind, but the sentiment was ridiculous. She'd only distract the men, and likely get herself hurt. Of course, he would try his darndest to keep her safe, but doing so could possibly compromise the mission.

Nay, he was convinced his decision to leave her behind was right. And one day, she'd realize that too. Still, the way she'd watched after him as if she could somehow will him to return with the fire in her eyes… It took everything in him not to kiss her goodbye.

But to do that would shock not only her and him but the rest of the clan as well.

"How many do ye think are still there?" Duncan shifted in his saddle, eyeing their surroundings.

While they had scouts to the north, south, east, and west, every man in the regiment was trained to be on high alert should they pick up on a hint of the enemy that no one else did.

"When I scouted before, there were at least two score." Alistair recalled grimly seeing the English on the Ramsey ramparts. The sight of them, so assured they were in the right place, only made him rageful.

Duncan snorted. "Och, that's nothing."

Alistair snickered. The absolute confidence his men had in their ability made him proud. The day he couldn't go into battle with Duncan and Broderick by his side was going to be a dark day indeed. They'd been fighting alongside each other since they were lads. Mimicking the older warriors on the gaming fields and the fields of battle. "They'll regret ever crossing the border, that's for certain."

The sun was just about to set, and given the late hour, he was confident the enemy would be settling in for bed. Probably only a few scouts on the battlements. The English were never well prepared. Too arrogant for their own good. Alas, that was something he could be grateful for. Let them be as stupid as they liked. Come morning, they'd all be dead.

They came to the edge of the forest, the sky a silver-purple, with few stars yet to appear. While it was dark, they'd not yet be as obscured as Alistair preferred.

"We wait," Alistair ordered.

A few of the castle windows showed dim light from candles or hearths, it was too hard to determine from this vantage point. But it was clear while they were getting ready to settle into their stolen beds that they had not done so yet. Whoever their leader was, Alistair was going to smother him where he slept.

Behind him, Alistair's men were silent. Their horses stood as still as marble statues. The only sound was a slight breeze in the wind. A hoot of an owl.

The crunch of?—

Alistair whirled his head around. Who the bloody hell was making that noise? His men, too, looked at each other, wondering who was making the noise, but everyone came up empty.

Damnation. Was the enemy on to them? How? They'd been so careful.

"I'll go," Broderick volunteered.

Alistair shook his head. "Ye take the lead if ye hear my signal. I'm going to take out whoever has come, thinking to ambush us from behind."

Alistair had the best skill at sneaking up on the enemy, so it was natural that such a task would fall to him. No one argued.

Rounding his army, silent as the grave, Alistair searched for the enemy. Any sign of a glint of a weapon. Any sound of crunching leaves, or the bending of a branch. He took aim, but it was a squirrel. He took aim again, but it was a rabbit. He took aim once more, but it was a field mouse.

Every enemy he thought he found turned out to be some sort of woodland creature. Alistair stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Listened. Watched.

The forest was still. Lacking the movement of any humans. Not even the trees gave away an enemy hiding within their branches. If he'd been more of a fanciful man, he might have thought the fairies were after him. Sneaking up on him the way he did, an enemy, ready to slip their magical fingers around his throat and force the life from his body.

But he wasn't fanciful. He was practical. He was deadly.

Alistair was foking warrior.

"Come out and fight like a man," he growled, not wanting to shout to alert his presence, but if he were to be heard, then at least they would present themselves for a fight.

But there was no reply. No sound. Only a gentle breeze tickling the back of his neck, as if Mother Nature were taunting him.

The hair standing on end on the back of his neck told him that he should still be on the lookout for the enemy, and yet, his eyes saw nothing to fight. Alistair scanned the woods, the road, and the trees for a few moments more. But no sound from whoever had crunched against the earth came. Even though he couldn't see. He could feel eyes on him. Alistair counted the seconds, willing whoever it was to reveal themselves. But in the end, it felt like a battle with a ghost, so he returned to the front of his warriors, shaking his head.

"They either hid themselves well, or we heard an animal." Even Alistair didn't believe it when he said it, and yet what else could he do? A few of the castle lights had extinguished. There would be more of the enemy alert than he liked. But each of his men could take on four or five easily. Better to face the enemy they knew than the one who kept himself hidden from view. "We advance now. Sitting here, we're just asking to be ambushed. We need to retain the upper hand."

"Aye, my laird," his men said in unison, pressing their fists to their hearts in a show of solidarity.

Alistair raised his hand in the air and made a fist, and they advanced forward, the hooves of their horses making impressions on the earth without sound.

The English would rue the day they ever stepped foot on Scottish soil, save for they'd be doing that ruing from Hell.

Calliope gazed down at Alistair from high on her perch in the trees, where he sat atop his horse. There were several moments when he'd been beneath her that she was sure he would look up. That he would sense her just a couple dozen feet above him. That a drop of the sweat beading on her brow would fall to glance against his cheek.

But while his gaze had roved over the branches, he'd not thought to look higher. Perhaps he didn't realize that anyone would consider climbing higher. It was madness, after all. However, Calliope had never shied from heights. A height was only a challenge she was willing to conquer.

Too bad for him. But good for her.

Climbing trees came as second nature. And she was lucky not to have a fear of heights like some. Still, as a spider, before it leaps, she'd watched and studied. Made not a sound. Didn't even breathe fearful of rustling the leaves with even the slightest breath. She heard his grumble about coming down to fight like a man. Good thing she was not a man, or she might have felt compelled to take him up on his challenge.

Then again, she was no good with a dagger, and shooting someone close range with a bow that you didn't want to kill wasn't very nice. Alas, she had stayed put.

Alistair might not have seen her, but she had a feeling his other senses were keen. The way he'd stayed rooted in place as if he might wait her out, she was certain he knew of her presence. If there'd been even the slightest bit more wind, he might even have smelled her.

What would he do if he saw her? Climb the tree and yank her down? Cut down the tree when she refused to budge? Calliope considered all of her options if he noticed her, and none of them were satisfactory.

But then Alistair had done them both a favor and silently led his horse away, leaving her to watch after him as he made his way toward his men.

A scant minute later, the armies of the Sinclairs and their allies were on the move. The moment they were out of sight, she scrambled from her hiding place, keeping her distance as she raced in their direction.

Lucky for her, they'd only been walking their horses rather than galloping, which might have alerted nearly anyone to their presence. That was how she'd been so easily able to keep up with them. That and a bit of running which she also wasn't afraid of. When she was younger, her mother often said with disdain that she'd been a lad in another life. Able to run and hunt and climb like the best of those with ballocks. At the time, she did not even know what ballocks were. Now, she knew and was quite offended. Of course, she was offended back then to have been labeled a lad, too. What was wrong with a girl who loved to run, shoot, and clamber up a tree?

Hadn't her climbing skills gotten her out of the castle and away from certain death?

If her mother was alive now, Calliope would point that out. Her skills had saved her life, and they were about to save the lives of her people, too—maybe even Alistair's men. She paused, her stomach suddenly unsettled, as a wash of grief came over her. If only she'd been able to save her mother, too.

The truth of what happened might never become apparent, but the more Calliope thought about it, and the hasty retreat Sir Edgar demanded of her person, the more she realized that her mother had likely been murdered.

The Scottish army had stopped moving again, startling Calliope back into the present. Not wanting to be caught and sent back, she climbed up yet another tree. From this vantage point, she could see the faint lights coming from a few windows in Ramsey Castle.

Disturbingly, one of those windows happened to be her own, the one she'd climbed out of not twenty-four hours before. Was it light from the hearth, left blazing, and no one knew she was gone yet? Or was it a candle because one of the disgusting men who'd murdered her father was sleeping in her bed? Considering they'd been chasing her through the dark, the latter was more likely the case.

Calliope grimaced. She'd burn the mattress before she slept in the same space as a murderer. Then again, she knew that mattresses were hard to come by, and she was lucky to have one. So perhaps she'd give it to someone less fortunate. Though did she really wish for someone else to sleep on the same space as a murderer? Nay.

Below, Alistair was conferring with two of his men. Duncan and Broderick, she was fairly certain. Hard to say in the dark, but those were the men he'd trusted before. She rather liked both of them, but it would likely be a while before they trusted her since she'd escaped them both twice, disobeying Alistair's orders.

They were moving again, and she had a good idea they were ready to attack or defend themselves from how they'd drawn their swords from their scabbards. She didn't see anyone coming toward them. A sudden rush of fear filled her.

She'd never been in battle before. Never had to defend herself other than in the training Gregor had given her as a child and later with her imagination when she'd snuck off to practice in England. A second's hesitation paused her fingers on the bow. Perhaps Alistair had been right in bidding her remain behind.

However, she'd acknowledge that later because now it was a bit too late for that. With a deep sigh, she forced her mind to quit itself.

Calliope squinted one eye and pretended to take aim with her borrowed bow at the imaginary enemy that could rise from the earth in front of Alistair's army. And quickly determined that from here she wouldn't be much help at all.

A swift study of the castle's surroundings proved frustrating. Her father was wise, having felled trees close enough to make a good perch for any archer assassin. That wasn't helpful, however, for her current situation at all. And that was only if they decided to engage in battle outside the walls.

The best thing for her to do might be to scale the castle walls where it didn't appear to have a guard, and then hide in plain sight as she helped with the two dozen arrows she brought with her that she'd found inside the stable at Alistair's castle. She'd thank him for them later, just after he thanked her for helping.

From this distance, there were several places where she could climb up the walls without being seen. The left tower appeared to be the easiest to get to without being spotted by either the English interlopers or Alistair's men if she kept hidden in the trees, and she made use of the shadows on the more, crouching as she ran. But she'd need to hurry. The Sinclair warriors were unwavering in their approach to the front gate.

The battle would begin soon.

Down the tree she went again, the muscles in her thighs and arms starting to ache from the exertion of so many climbs without much rest or food between.

But now was not the time to worry about aches and pains. Sore muscles weren't going to matter if she lost her father's holding and his people suffered. Her people suffered.

Calliope sprinted to the edge of the wood near the left tower, crouched low, and took a moment to catch her breath. The band of Scottish warriors was near the gate. Bracing herself, she darted across the landscape, keeping her eyes on the enemy on the wall and Alistair's army.

Was it a good or bad omen that she was having so much luck today? A part of her was starting to think this wasn't good at all. That too much luck was bound to run dry. And then she'd be in deep trouble.

At the wall, she peered up into the darkness, taking in the rocky surface and the mortar between the stones. So far, the ramparts appeared clear, and she prayed they stayed that way.

With practiced grips and footholds, she climbed the wall as hastily as she dared. There were no shouts of warning, no men who cried out at the sight of a woman scaling the wall. If they did, she'd decided to tell them she was a ghost who planned to haunt them forever, but no one seemed to notice.

At the top, she pulled herself over the battlements, dropping low, only to find herself staring at a pair of boots that weren't hers. Ballocks.

"My lady?"

Calliope slowly raised her eyes to an English soldier. Not a man she recognized. That was a relief because she hated to harm a man she knew. Too stunned at seeing her, he didn't have a weapon drawn.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, pressing her hand to her heart. "A fellow Englishman. Please do save me from this savage land."

"Of course." He frowned, then leaned over the side of the wall to get a look down. "How did you?—"

But before he could finish his sentence, Calliope pushed him hard. "I'm so sorry," she said as he shrieked and fell over the side of the wall, landing with a thud she didn't want to see on the other side.