Siegfried sat up straighter, one hand going to the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Someone is coming.”
Hamish held out a palm for silence. He crept around to stand beside Siegfried and liberated his hunting knife from its hidden pocket. He heard the snap of a twig and a muffled curse, perchance caused by the sharp holly.
Hamish raised his eyebrows toward Siegfried. If this was an enemy, he had no skills in subterfuge.
A throat was cleared, then a familiar voice rang through the clearing. “’Tis I, Alaric.”
Siegfried visibly relaxed, but Hamish felt a new wave of anxiety. Why was he back so soon?
“We were not expecting ye until nightfall,” he said in greeting, sheathing his knife as the tall, dark-haired warrior strode toward them.
Alaric nodded his head in a gesture of submission, though his narrow eyes gleamed with triumph.
“I have news for ye, Hamish. News ye will be glad to hear.”
Hamish was winded again, this time by hope. “Is it Elena?”
“Nay.” Alaric did not appear sorry to have raised false hope. “The news concerns a lady ye have ne’er met.” He stood with his feet apart, his hands resting on his hips. His sodden cloak dripped onto the earth floor, but Alaric was apparentlyunconcerned by either the rain or the cold. “The new Lady of Greenock.”
Hamish snorted, before tipping the remains of his stew on the fire and wrinkling his nose at the pungent smoke. “Ye will have to explain yerself further, Alaric. I canna see how this news is of interest to me.”
Instead of answering, Alaric swiveled to face Siegfried. “Is there more of that stew? I have nay eaten since sunrise.”
Wordlessly, Siegfried ladled some into a fresh wooden bowl and passed it over. Alaric sat down and tucked in with enthusiasm. After waiting a moment, Hamish too sat down, rubbing his hands on his damp braies. He thought he might be prepared to sign over the rights to Greenock Castle in exchange for a hot bath and a skin of strong wine, so long as the safety of his sister was assured.
“The English soldiers are free with their chatter.” Alaric spoke through a mouth full of meat. “They changed their horses at Din Eidyn, just as ye thought they might. I put meself amongst the stable hands and none thought to question me.”
“So ye did not infiltrate the soldiers?” Hamish interrupted.
Alaric paused, his spoon midway to his mouth, and flashed him a smile. “I didna have to. I heard all I needed at Din Eidyn.”
With that, the man resumed his supper, causing Hamish to gnash his teeth with impatience. “God’s Bones, Alaric, spill yer news afore I spill yer stew.”
Alaric gulped and belched, causing Hamish to wonder if his mother had ever taken the time to teach him manners. “Lord Gaunt is thought to be a great man, now that he is Laird of Greenock. So much so that he has negotiated for the hand of a woman recently made a widow.”
Hamish gestured angrily. “What care have I for this?”
“Listen now.” Alaric was placatory. “This widow is a great prize. Young, beautiful, and wealthy to boot. They call her theRose of England. She and Lord Gaunt are to be wed the very day she arrives in Greenock.”
Hamish leaned forward, fixing the warrior with a menacing gaze. “Is there any sort of point to yer tale?”
“This woman. The Countess of Felsham. She will be escorted to Greenock by three of Gaunt’s men.” Alaric paused for emphasis, and Hamish sat back, finally able to see where he was headed. Beyond the cave mouth, the rain began to slow. Frail shafts of late afternoon sunlight permeated the heavy cloud.
“Three?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Three.” Alaric nodded sagely. “And there are three of us.” He opened his arms wide to encompass both Hamish and Siegfried, as if neither of them was capable of counting so high.
“And where will this rescue party meet our Rose of England?” Hamish’s fingers beat a tattoo on his knees as a plan began to form.
“A place called Ember Hall. ’Tis located south of the border.” Alaric scraped up his last spoonful of stew, looking well pleased with himself. “’Tis a fine plan, is it not?”
“’Tis a fool’s plan,” Siegfried scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Ember Hall belongs to the Earl of Wolvesley. There is no richer man in England. Mark my words, they will be well-defended.”
“Ye know the place?” Hamish turned to him.
“I knowofit. I have ne’er been.” Siegfried shook his head. “The lands nearby are dangerous with raids.”
Hamish pursed his lips. He had never been one to run from danger.
