“It isna right that ye leave camp with no one to protect ye. Let me call one of the men. M’lord made it verra clear that we were to remain on our guard at all times.”
All she intended to do was scrape some trees in search of sap to mix with the myrrh. What harm could come to her? “I promise to remain right over there.” She pointed deeper into the cluster of trees shading this side of the camp. “In this area here. Close. In fact, you should be able to hear me while you work at the fire. If it will calm you, I shall talk to you while I am among the trees, so you know no ill has befallen me.”
He gave her a dubious wrinkling of his nose.
“I am going whether you will it or not.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to hurt the lad’s feelings by showing how he couldn’t stop her even if he tried his best. Without another word, she stepped between the trees, wishing she had paid more attention when the healer had tried to teach her herbal lore.
“Ye said ye would talk,” came the knave’s nervous call.
“I am right here, Hendry.” She fingered a tender young sapling, then called out, “What about willow bark? Do you think that might work?”
“I fear he is beyond that, m’lady. It relieves pain, and I dinna think much anything troubles him anymore.”
“Fair point,” she muttered, realizing her error as soon as the boy said it. The healer had scolded her often for not paying attention and trying to remember more.
“What did ye say?”
“Nothing,” she called back, tromping deeper into the woods. What she needed was a good sturdy fir or pine. That would give them some stout pitch.
“Where are ye now, m’lady?”
“Right here. Is the wine boiling yet?” Hendry was as worrisome as a buzzing midge.
A hand clamped over her mouth and slammed her back against an armored chest. Sharp spikes stabbed into the flesh from the base of her neck to the small of her back. A sickening dizziness fouled her senses as the poisoned barbs dove deeper with the fiend’s tightening embrace. Her last coherent feeling was hopelessness. She had erred so badly. Her chance at freedom was gone. But even worse, she would never see her fearsome Scottish bear ever again. Nor would she be able to admit she liked it when he called herm’love.
Chapter Six
“Isee nosign of them. Anywhere.” Perched on the crumbling edge of a tall crag, Thorburn scanned the landscape.
“Edrid never errs,” Ross said, frowning down at the gently rolling land stretching between their current position and the point reaching out into the sea where the construction of Duart Castle sent up columns of smoke from the workers’ fires.
Thorburn backed away from the cliff’s edge, thinking back over all the spy had told him. Edrid spoke as if he had witnessed a large group of marauders heading for Duart before one of them bashed him with a club. And that was the part that didn’t make sense. Why did they not finish the job and kill the man? Or torture him for information? From all Adellis had told him, and from the proof of the scars on her back, her brother thrived on tormenting prisoners. Why had they allowed Edrid to escape, knowing he would report not only their position but their numbers?
An eerie knowing made him turn and stare back at where they had just been. What Edrid had reported was nothing more than a diversion. Carefully laid bait to lure them away from camp, and Thorburn knew why. Teeth clenched so hard his jaws ached, he bowed his head. He prayed those he had left behind managed to hold off however many dogs Jarl Alrek had sent to fetch his sister.
“A trap?” Ross asked.
“Aye, a feckin’ snare for sure.” Thorburn lifted his head, regret and anger surging through him at a slow burn. They had made a fool of him. “I shouldha allowed her to come with us. That wouldha foiled the bastard’s plans. Instead, I did exactly as he guessed I would and left her there. Like a lamb staked out for wolves.”
Without a word, Ross gave the signal to turn about. It rippled through the twoscore of men awaiting their orders. The unit shifted and turned as one. With an apologetic tip of his head, Ross glanced skyward. “It will take us ’til nightfall to get back, ye ken?”
“I am well aware of that.” Thorburn charged down the incline. “Tasgall!”
“Aye, m’lord?”
“Off with it. All of it.” He tossed his helm to the ground and yanked loose his belt. “And rid my horse of any extra weight. I need a mount unencumbered and fast. Make haste, ye ken?” Bending forward, he hunched the heavy shirt of mail up to his shoulders.
“Aye, m’lord.” The knave finished the job and dragged the hauberk off him. Tasgall scooped up the helmet, then placed the articles onto his own steed, lashing them behind the saddle. “Ye’ll be keeping yer axe, aye? And the dagger?”
“Aye.” Stripped down to nothing but his trews and léine, Thorburn belted his dagger to his side and placed his massive sparth into the specially fashioned leather holder attached to his saddle. He tossed the shield to Tasgall, then launched himself onto his mount. Lighter meant faster, and he needed swiftness more than ever before. Praise God, they had ridden rather than marched to intercept the troublemakers before they reached Duart. They usually preferred tracking foes on foot. But a hasty pace had been foremost this time. Now he could speedily retrace their path. Unfortunately, even at a mighty gallop, it would take ’til nearly nightfall to make it back.
“Lead them, Ross,” he shouted over his shoulder as he spurred the horse onward. Both Ross and Valan had led the guard before. In fact, if he had failed at assuming command, the position of constable would have fallen to one of his brothers. Their father had led theGallóglaighuntil his death, and his father before that. To lead was expected of them. It was the heritage of their bloodline.
He kept close to the coastline at first, maneuvering around the wet spongy patches of blanket bog and tangles of heath. That terrain slowed him too much, forcing him to veer inland to the grasslands. Rippling thatches of green fescue and bright pink sea thrift provided somewhat easier traveling, but it still wasn’t fast enough to suit him. God’s beard, he wished he could sprout the wings of an eagle and soar to whatever awaited.
A column of dark smoke staining the vibrant blue of the sky squeezed the air from his lungs. Just as he feared. A sprung trap. The cowardly bastard had burned them out. His warriors could do little against flaming arrows shot from carefully chosen vantage points. He pushed his mount harder, even though the beast already foamed at the mouth. As he thundered closer, the rumbling of chaos and enraged shouting reached him. His men’s anger roared louder than the crackling blaze engulfing the encampment.
He leapt from the saddle and charged into the heart of it. Most of the shelters were gone, their remains nothing more than patches of smoldering blackness, glowing coals, and partially burnt remnants of whatever had been inside. His tent still stood, but not for much longer. The flames gobbled the oiled cloth and licked at the wooden poles. Trunks and tables had been dragged outside, well away from the fire. As had much of his extra armor and weaponry. He caught hold of a man bent beneath a pole laden with overflowing buckets. “Where is she? Or Hendry? Where is he?”
