He forced himself out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, and dressed quickly in practical clothes suitable for riding. If Ashcombe's men were camped at the border, Alpin had to see the situation for himself.
He found Callum in the courtyard, already checking saddles and weapons with the efficiency of long practice.
"Ready?" Callum asked.
"Aye. Who's comin’ with us?"
"Duncan, Fergus, Lachlan, and Brodie. All good trackers, steady in a fight if it comes tae it."
"It willnae come tae a fight," Alpin said firmly. "We're scoutin’, naethin’ more. I want tae see what we're dealin’ with, get a count of their numbers, maybe identify their commander."
"And if they see us?"
"Then we withdraw. Nay heroics, nay engagements." Alpin swung himself into the saddle. "I'm nae startin’ a war over a reconnaissance mission."
The ride to the southern border took most of the morning. They moved through increasingly dense woodland, following game trails and keeping to cover wherever possible.
The tracks Duncan had reported were easy enough to find once they knew where to look—boot prints in the soft earth, broken branches, the remnants of a campfire that had been hastily covered.
"English soldiers, definitely," Fergus muttered, examining a discarded water skin. "And nae tryin’ very hard tae hide their presence."
"They want us tae ken they're here," Alpin said grimly. "It's a message."
"What kind of message?" Lachlan asked.
"The kind that says ‘we're watchin’, and we're nae goin’ away’."
They pressed on, moving more carefully now. Alpin could feel the tension ratcheting up among his men—hands drifting toward sword hilts, eyes constantly scanning the trees.
These were good warriors, experienced and disciplined, but the uncertainty of the situation had them on edge.
A flash of movement ahead brought them all to a halt.
Alpin raised his fist, signaling for silence. Through the trees, perhaps fifty yards distant, he could make out a figure moving quickly through the underbrush.
Not toward them. Away.
"Scout," Callum breathed. "He must have spotted us."
"After him," Alpin ordered. "But take him alive. I want answers."
They gave chase, fanning out to cut off escape routes. The figure ahead was fast, agile, darting between trees with practiced ease. But Alpin's men knew these woods, and they worked together with the coordination of a well-trained pack.
Duncan broke left, circling around to head the runner off. Fergus and Lachlan pressed from the right, driving him toward the center. Alpin and Callum pushed forward, slowly closing the distance.
The man must have realized he was being herded because he suddenly changed direction, bursting out of the trees toward what looked like a deer trail.
Brodie was waiting.
The collision was brief and brutal. Brodie caught the runner in a tackle that sent both men tumbling to the ground. By the time Alpin reached them, the stranger was face-down in the dirt with Brodie's knee in his back and Duncan's sword at his neck.
"Dinnae move," Brodie growled.
The man went still.
Alpin dismounted, approaching cautiously. "Search him."
Lachlan patted down the prisoner, pulling out a knife, a small purse of coins, and a rolled piece of parchment sealed with wax.
