She looked forward to her soft bed. Although the journey had been made slowly over nearly four days, with extraordinary consideration given to her every ache and yawn, she was weary of it all. She really did ache now, all over, but she did not dare reveal her discomfort. They were so close to home she wanted no more delays. If she even rubbed her back too often, she was sure Hacon would have them halt where they were until the next day. She forced a smile for him when he returned.
“Here,” he murmured as he sat down beside her and handed her some oatcakes. “Plain fare but filling.” He set a wineskin between them. “Some of Dunfermline’s best.”
“Oh, that will be verra nice,” she said even as she helped herself to a drink. “The trip is a wee bit dusty.”
“We could pause here, wait until morning to finish the journey.”
“Nay, let us continue right after the noon rest. I wish to get back to Dubheilrig and our bed.”
He smiled and put an arm around her. “I can weel understand that. Kenning how soon we will be there, I feel a strong need to travel on. Howbeit, if ye feel tired . . .”
“I dinnae feel tired!” She realized she had come close to shouting and sighed, regretting her sharpness. “I am verra sorry. ’Tis just that I think I have heard that question a thousand times since we left Dunfermline. Hacon”—she covered his hand on her shoulder with hers—“I traveled to Dunfermline in far less comfort than this, and with far more speed, yet I didnae suffer. I will be all right. And if I do feel poorly, ye will be the first to be told.”
“Agreed.” He kissed her cheek.
“I will believe that when I reach Dubheilrig without having heard it once more.”
“Best eat up then. The sooner we get there, the less chance there is that I will ask it.”
When she was finally helped back into the cart, Jennet almost asked for a longer rest. She dreaded even another bumpy, jarring mile. Telling herself not to be such a complainer, she settled herself on the blankets spread thickly on the floor of the cart. When Elizabeth climbed in with her, Jennet tried to smile. The look Elizabeth gave her made Jennet think it might have been better to make no effort at all.
“You are not feeling well, are you?” Elizabeth demanded as they started on their way.
“Dinnae say that too loudly or I will have half these fools o’er here peering at me.”
“So, youarefeeling poorly.” Elizabeth clutched the side of the cart and swore when they hit a deep rut.
“And these bumps are one reason why I feel poorly, ifpoorlyis the right word.”
“By the look of you, I would saypoorlyis a very good word. Mayhaps we should stop.”
“Ye even suggest it and I shall kick ye right out of the cart. We are but a few hours from Dubheilrig. I want this journey to end. I think when I get home I shall ne’er travel again.”
“Humph.” Elizabeth crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom and gave Jennet a knowing look. “You will change your mind the first time your man asks you to go with him on some journey.”
“Mayhaps, but not if I am with child. Travel is ne’er comfortable, but this reaches beyond endurance.”
“Ah, there goes young Ranald.”
“Where goes young Ranald?” Jennet closed her eyes, hoping she could sleep for the rest of the journey.
“Your husband has sent him on ahead to tell those at Dubheilrig of our impending arrival.”
“Ah, good. I hope he tells Serilda to ready my bed.”
Ranald was already starting down the main road of Dubheilrig before he realized that something was wrong. His gaze lifted to Hacon’s nearly finished tower house and he gasped. An army of almost two score surrounded it. Archers fired steadily at the tower and the wall encircling its bailey, while one large catapult was employed to doggedly pummel those same walls. The thick door leading into the inner bailey smoldered, but had clearly been soaked with water to thwart the power of fiery arrows. Ranald doubted that the door would last much longer, however. When it was breached, the defenders would be forced to retire to the tower house itself.
Suddenly realizing how easily he could be seen, he urged his horse toward one of the cottages. Once hidden by the low stone building, he dismounted and, clutching the reins of his mount, peered around the corner of the tiny house, trying to see what was happening. He decided the fact that none of the thatched roofs in the village had been fired was one reason it had taken him so long to sense trouble.
“I wondered when ye would gain the wit to hide, laddie.”
Although he immediately recognized the voice behind him, he was so startled that he partly drew his sword as he turned. “God’s beard, Artair, ye could warn a mon! I could have stuck my sword in you.”
“Weel, ye didnae. It doesnae look good, laddie,” Artair commented after a quick peek toward the tower house.
“When did ye arrive?”
“But an hour ago. I came to visit with Jennet. What are ye doing on this side of the battle?”
