Chapter Five
Laila was exhausted in every sense of the word. Her riding cloak was damp from the rain and the morning mists, and it sent frequent shivers down her back as she tried to stay awake in the saddle. She could tell her horse was tired too, and she gave him regular pats on the neck as they trotted on through the wide Scottish countryside. At least, she thought she was in Scotland. There was no real way of knowing until she came to her destination.
But where was it? Laila feared that she was lost, despite having followed her brother’s directions, vague as they may be. Still, having been on the road all night as most of the morning, she was beginning to lose hope. She needed to sleep, more than anything, and she pined for a place to rest. Yet, she knew she couldn’t stop. There was no safe place for her to lay her head in this vast countryside lest she risk being set upon by bandits and brigands.
“A bit longer, boy,” she said to her horse. He gave a grunt. The sun broke through the clouds for a moment, and Laila turned her head upwards, drinking in the warmth of the rays, trying to comfort her soggy bones, but as quick as it appeared, the sun soon vanished behind another blanket of a cloud.
“Be that way,” Laila said up to the sky, then turned her attention back toward the ground before her. She had ridden hard out of her father’s castle and hard along the creek but slowed her pace in the night when she ventured north into the open country. She was beginning to doubt her course of action entirely. What on earth was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Then she remembered tales of Lord Hamilton and shivered once more. This was all for good cause. She could not doubt herself now, not after she had come so far.
Laila slowly climbed a rise, and she felt her horse struggling to keep up his efforts. She gave him a comforting brush of the mane and urged him onward, coming to the top and elating at what she saw on the other side. It was a road! Not much of a road, she had to admit, more of a dirt path and a pale comparison to the old Roman roads that graced Southern England, but it was a road nonetheless, and it led somewhere.
She urged her horse down the slope and began moving North along the road, feeling a new burst of enthusiasm at her discovery. She had to be close.
She kept riding into midday and thought of how her family was getting on at home. No doubt her father was absolutely furious, and she wouldn’t be surprised if Matthew shared some of that rage, though he would likely put the blame on Jacob. Sweet Jacob. She thought he always had a good heart, though she worried about him from time to time. He was soft, and the world was hard.
She wondered if anybody would come looking for her. She wouldn’t put it past her father to send some sort of scouting party, but she doubted they would cross the border, wherever that was. An armed English patrol in Scotland would be cause enough for all sorts of trouble, and her father knew better than to stir that pot. She also wondered about Lord Hamilton. What would he do when he learned he would not be receiving his young bride? Find another, she expected, probably a younger one, the pig that he was.
Then Laila noticed peasants starting to appear in the fields around her. They were distant and few and far between, but they were there, tending to their crops. She knew she had to be getting close now, and she felt a surge of confidence, spurring her horse forward once more. He gave another grunt, but he complied.
She rode on, and after a short while, came upon a few peasants driving a wagon of hay down the road. She drew up alongside them and saw them looking at her with utter confusion. She did look bedraggled, she would be the first to admit, but still, they seemed unusually standoffish.
“Good day,” she said, taking down her soggy riding hood and bowing her head to the old man and his presumptive son driving the wagon. They blinked at her silently, their eyes wide with surprise, she assumed, at her English accent. “Is this the road to McGowan castle?”
They blinked again, then the old man said, “Aye, it’s jus’ down tae rood a ways.”
Then, it was Laila’s turn to blink. She had met a few Scotsmen throughout the years, but the deep accent of a rural Scottish farmer was almost beyond comprehension.
“I—” she began but didn’t know what to say for fear of seeming rude.
“He said aye!” the boy cried out from the wagon.
“I thank you,” Laila said, suddenly unsettled. She pushed on past the wagon and continued down the road.
As she went, she heard the boy grumble behind her, “Bleedin’ sassenach.”
It was not a kind word in the least, and Laila knew that they looked upon her with brutal prejudice. She was aware, of course, of the recent wars between the two nations, but she had never seen any of it. As a young girl, she had spent years hearing adults complain of defeats and battles and losses. As the boy’s comment rang in her head, she realized that she had no real sense of the world she was entering or of how she would be perceived, and she felt fear swirling up in her stomach.
What was she to do if she were turned away? Limp home? That was almost as terrible a thought as not making it to the castle. Her father’s wrath would be immeasurable, and she would feel such shame. The thought was unbearable, but it lingered in the back of her mind, graced by a new shred of uncertainty that she had not held previously.
Then she rounded a bend on the road, moving past a low hill, and saw a castle on the horizon. She felt excitement once again as she drank in the sight of the castle’s tall towers and the busy fields that surrounded it.
“We’ve made it, boy,” she whispered to her horse. “Come on.”
Renewed with vigor, they trotted through the home stretch, and Laila watched the castle grow larger and grander as they grew closer. There were people everywhere, and she could tell that the population was prospering, though everyone she passed glanced up at her with curiosity. Then she saw the faces of the gate guards coming into view, and she realized that her journey was about to be at an end. There was no more speculation or hopes. Anything could happen, and whether she was ready or not, it was happening now.
Laila’s left hand drifted down to her inner thigh, where she felt the outline of the small dagger strapped beneath her clothes. Just in case. She had no idea how to use it, but the thought that it was there at all brought her at least a shred of comfort. With that, she steadied her face and approached the gate.
“Oy, look here,” one of the guards said to the other as she approached, slowing her horse.
“Pretty little thing, ain’t she,” the other said, stepping up to block her path. They both boasted long spears and short swords, as well as a stitched leather tunic and leather coif upon their heads.
“What’s a pretty lass like ye doin’ out here, all wet it seems,” the first one asked, stepping to the other side of her horse.
“Ridin’ in tae rain, is it?” the second one chimed in.
“We cuild help ye with them wet clothes,” the first added, drawing in another step.
“I am here to see Lord McGowan,” Laila stated as confidently as she could, glancing nervously between the two guards. “Let me pass.”
