“Please,” she begged the stranger, searching for the right Gaelic words. “Help me get home to my father.” She reached down and picked up the fallen bundle of clothing, trying not to think about Trinette. The maid had been her only companion from France, and it broke her heart to imagine how alone she was now.
The Scottish warrior caught her hand and drew her outside the fortress, away from the fighting. Marguerite followed him, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake in this decision. But what else could she do?
This was her only choice, no matter how terrifying it was. The man led her to a group of waiting horses where she secured her bundle. She moved with numb motions, letting her mind fall into nothingness. If she tried to think of anything beyond the simple task before her, she’d start to weep.
Behind her, the fortress blazed with fire, the scent of destruction darkening the air. She rested her hands upon a brown mare, trying not to think of what would happen to her now.
Then, another Scot strode toward them. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, and a long claymore was strapped to his back. Fury and disbelief raged in his eyes. “Bram, what in God’s name have you done? She’s not coming with us.”
He spoke Gaelic, likely to keep her from understanding his words. Marguerite shrank back, and she stared at her hands, pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping. Her fingers shook, but she waited for the men to make their own decision.
“We can’t leave her there,” Bram argued. Her rescuer stared back into the face of the other man in open defiance.
“She’s one of them,” the first snapped. “And if you bring her, Cairnross’s men will follow her to Glen Arrin.”
She could see the doubts forming in her rescuer’s eyes. If she didn’t say something, he might leave her here.
“No,” Marguerite interrupted, using Gaelic to reveal that she’d understood every word. She had to leave, at all costs. Searching for a way to convince the other man, she offered, “If you send word to my father, he’ll come for me, and you will be rewarded.”
“And just who is your father?” he demanded.
Marguerite sent him a cool stare. “Guy de Montpierre, the Duc D’Avignois.”
Although she’d never before evoked the power of her father’s rank, she saw that it indeed made a difference with the first man. His face grew intrigued, as if wondering how he could use her.
She didn’t care. As long as he helped her escape from Cairnross and summoned her father, she would ensure that he was rewarded for his assistance.
“I am Marguerite de Montpierre,” she continued, sending him a regal nod. “I was betrothed to Lord Cairnross.” Distaste filled her mouth at his very name.
“You may have our protection until your father arrives,” the first man agreed. “But you’d best pray that Cairnross doesn’t find you.”
She didn’t doubt that at all. If the earl learned that she’d conspired with the enemy to escape, she might share in Trinette’s fate. Silently, Marguerite uttered a prayer for the woman’s soul.
Bram boosted her on to the saddle, and she arranged her skirts around the bundle of clothes she’d brought. Her hands shook as she gripped the saddle, wondering if she was making a mistake to go off with strangers. She didn’t know these men at all, nor was there any reason to trust them.
But thus far, they’d behaved honorably. Their leader hadn’t been pleased with the idea of bringing her with them, but he’d agreed to protect her at a risk to his own people. It was the only hope she had left.
The fighting between the freed prisoners and Cairnross’s men continued in the distance, as the men led her away. Flames consumed the garrison, filling the air with smoke. “I’m glad to see it destroyed,” she murmured. The earl deserved to lose his stronghold after everything he’d done.
“How long were you there?” Bram asked, as he climbed up behind her, urging the horse faster.
“Only a sennight. But the prisoners . . . “ She shuddered at the memory of all those who had suffered. Most had been freed this night, except those who had died fighting.
“Did you ever see a man called Callum MacKinloch?” Bram asked. “Younger than me, one of our brothers?”
She glanced back at him, and realized that she’d been right about the strong resemblance. It made her feel better about leaving with them, though she couldn’t say why. “He was sent away a few days ago,” she admitted. “Oui, I saw him.”
“Where?”
She shook her head, keeping her gaze fixed forward. “To the south. That’s all I know.”
“But he was alive and unharmed?”
“Alive, yes.” At least, that’s what she wanted to believe. Her hands dug into the folds of her gown as she prayed it was still true. “Will you try to find him?” she whispered, as they took her deeper into the hills.
“He’s our brother. We’ll bring him home,” Bram vowed.
The intensity of the promise gave her hope that he would keep his word. She didn’t understand why she felt the need to ensure that Callum was safe. She’d only met him the one night. There was nothing at all between them, not even friendship. But when he’d brought her hand to his cheek, it was as if an invisible bond had drawn her to him. He’d dared to touch her, and though she couldn’t say why he’d evoked these feelings, it was as if he’d been searching for her all his life.
