“We can, but I dinnae think any of the ones near here will be any safer than this one. We may have to take a verra long journey to reach a place the DeVeaux havenae thought to guard, or, at least, guard as well as this one. And I fear not every port has the chance of offering us someone who is sailing to Scotland. Again, not as good a chance as this one does.”
When he fell silent, scowling down at the muddy ground of the narrow, dark alley they had sheltered in, Gisele forced herself to be quiet. He did not need any more questions. He needed to think and plan what they should do next. Gisele prayed that he could solve their grave problem, for she did not really want to do any more riding over the countryside. She wanted to be done with running and hiding, and she had allowed herself to hope that reaching this port finally meant an end to it all. It did not really lighten her mood any to know that Nigel had to be at least as disappointed as she was. He not only wished to flee the DeVeaux, but to return to the home and family he had not seen in seven long years.
She idly brushed the dirt from her paddedjuponand was surprised to find that she missed the gown she had been wearing when Nigel had rescued her. It was strange to want anything Vachel had touched, but she did. Gisele realized that she was weary of being a boy, that at least once she would like Nigel to see her dressed in a woman’s finery. It was all vanity and she knew it, but she could not discard the urge so easily. Not even when she reminded herself that Nigel clearly had no trouble thinking of her as a woman, and a desirable one. She even found herself wondering if the woman who had claimed Nigel’s heart had worn elegant gowns for him.
Hoping that she could push such nonsense from her mind, she turned to look at Nigel again and gasped in fear. Two men had entered the narrow alley from the other end, and were creeping toward her and the yet unaware Nigel. Both men already had their swords drawn, so there could be little doubt that they meant trouble. She sharply nudged Nigel as she unsheathed her dagger.
Nigel cursed and drew his sword just as the first man charged him. The battle was a quick one, his foe proving to have very little skill with a sword. The man had been hoping surprise would win the day, but had not even been very skilled at surprising a man, either.
His gaze fixed firmly on the second man, Nigel wiped his sword clean on the dead man’s ragged jupon, then slowly straightened up. That the tall, red-haired man had stood back, making no effort to give his companion any aid, puzzled Nigel until he looked the man over more carefully. The man held firm, sword in hand, but what caught most of Nigel’s attention was the clan badge on the man’s paddedjupon. Nigel felt a stirring of hope, but tried to suppress it and remain calm and wary. The man might be a Scot, but he was still armed, still confronting him, and still ominously silent. If he only had himself to consider, Nigel knew he would take a chance on his fellow countryman, but he did not need the feel of Gisele gently trembling at his back to remind him that he had a great deal more than himself to consider.
“Ye are a Scot,” he said.
“Aye,” replied the man.
“I am nay sure of the clan though I recognize the badge ye wear.”
“MacGregor.”
“Ah, of course. I am Sir Nigel Murray of Donncoill.”
“I ken it,” the man drawled, smiling briefly. “Ye are well kenned by many in this land. I am Duncan. I am nay kenned well at all.”
Nigel slowly began to relax, although he was not sure why. Just because the man seemed amiable enough, even showed a little bit of humor, did not mean that he and Gisele were now safe. Neither did it mean that this man would help them in any way. It was not only the French who could be tempted by the vast bounty on Gisele’s head.
“Have ye come here to try to take the lass to her enemies?” he demanded.
“Weel, now, I did think on it. ’Twas why I was here with this wee fool.” Duncan moved close enough to nudge the dead Frenchman with the toe of his boot. “’Tis a great deal of money, and we MacGregors have e’er had a yearning for coin.”
“So I have heard. I willnae let ye take her.”
“Nay, I dinnae think ye will. What did she do to her hair?”
Gisele gaped as she peered around Nigel to look at the man. She felt she would not be blamed if she began to think that all Scotsmen were mad fools. The two men faced each other with swords drawn, the port swarmed with her enemies, a dead man sprawled at their feet, and yet they just kept talking. Now the man named MacGregor wanted to know why she had cut her hair. Even stranger to her was that Nigel did not appear to be surprised, insulted, or even amused by the odd question.
“Well, she is trying to look like a wee lad,” replied Nigel.
“She doesnae. Dinnae think she would e’en if she had scraped every last curl away.”
“Nay, neither do I. Are ye going to try to collect the bounty?” he asked again.
The man hesitated a moment, then sighed and sheathed his sword. “Nay. I have gained a full purse from fighting here for three years. I dinnae need to add any blood money to coin gained in honest battle. Especially not when that money is being offered for such a wee lass and one of my fellow countrymen. Are those your horses round the corner?” he asked, nodding his head toward the way he had come from.
“Aye,” Nigel slowly sheathed his sword.
“That wee grey mare is a fine beast.”
Nigel almost laughed. The man was not going to collect what he called blood money, but he obviously did not wish to go away empty-handed. Since he had every intention of trying to get the man to help them get onto a ship, he decided it was good to know that Duncan MacGregor coveted something he had. Payment would not be asked for, but he risked offense if he did not offer some.
“Aye, she is. Do ye think she is fine enough to pay for slipping two people on board a ship headed for Scotland?”
“She may be.”
“I need to get the lass out of this country. I also wish to smell the heather again. It has been seven long years for me.”
“Too long, lad. Much too long.”
“I agree.”
