The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams
15
Fergus had not intended to leave Moire in the middle of the forest.
In truth, he did not know what he had intended.
All he’d known in that moment was how deeply he had been hurt and how much he needed to get as far away from her as possible. He required time and distance to care for the heinous wound she had dealt him if he had any hope of recovering from it. He fervently prayed that if he rode fast enough, he would be able to leave his broken heart behind with her.
Unfortunately, this was not the case, and by the time the midday sun reached its peak, and he found a small village to take refuge in, his horse was nearly ready to collapse, having been pushed to its furthest extremes for half a day without food, water, or rest.
He was torn. Part of him felt the best course of action would be to simply leave the animal behind and go forward on foot so that he might evade the soldiers who would almost certainly be looking for him in the town.
Then again, he was utterly fatigued as well and half-starved since he hadn’t had much food or rest while he’d been a “guest” of Ronald Campbell. Surely, he thought, as long as he did not reveal his true identity or draw too much attention to himself, he might be able to rest here for just a short while before Campbell’s men caught up to him? After all, there was no guarantee that they had even been deployed in this direction. It was far more likely that they had been sent toward the seaside since it would have made the most sense for him to ride in that direction.
No, he decided. He would allow his horse to recover in this village and allow himself the same thing, if only for an hour or two. Otherwise, he would be staggering, exhausted, and malnourished as he tried to flee from detection, and in such a state, he knew that it was highly unlikely that he would get very far.
In the worst-case scenario, the guards would eventually come looking for him here, and the locals would doubtless be able to identify Fergus to them. But by that point, he intended to be long gone.
He hitched his horse to a post next to a public water trough, then sought out the closest tavern and entered.
As he did, Fergus felt a sudden stab of guilt. Had he been wrong to leave Moire out in the wilderness? He had been terribly angry with her, naturally, and from what she had told him, she could not be trusted as a companion during his escape from danger. For all he knew, she might end up leading her uncle’s search for Fergus -- after all, did he not still have control over the fates of her siblings, and therefore absolute power over her?
But if so, he asked himself for what seemed like the hundredth time, why did she warn me about the danger I was in back at the castle? Why not just sit back and let the trap be sprung, thus catching me unaware? Could her loyalty to her uncle have been so conflicted?
Could her feelings for me, perhaps, have outweighed them, if only for a moment? And if so, might she still be enlisted to aid me against him?
He desperately wanted to believe such things, but he also knew that he was being swayed by his personal longing for her. Better, he felt, to simply harden his heart and do his best to put her out of his mind, especially while he had more pressing matters to attend to, like remaining out of Ronald’s reach long enough to get a message back to his own people.
Clearly, he had been right in telling Edmund to be prepared to mobilize the Brodies’ forces in case they might be required.
How, then, would he let Edmund know to unleash them now that the time had come to do so?
These thoughts swirled in Fergus’s mind as he entered the tavern and sat down. “Ale, innkeeper, if you please,” he ordered. “And bread and cheese as well.” He set several coins upon the table so that the tavern’s owner would not suspect he was some lowly rogue who was unable to pay for his fare.
Sure enough, as soon as the innkeeper spotted the coins, his eyes glinted with the greed of a magpie’s, and he hastened to bring the food and ale. “An honor and a pleasure to serve you, good sir,” he said with a bow. “If you require anything further, do not hesitate to ask.”
“Good Lord, Connell!” a stout, red-faced man in the corner called out. “That’s faster than I’ve ever seen you serve anyone, including Laird Ronald himself!”
Connell bared his teeth, glowering. “Aye, Fingal, I suppose it is.”
“Dinnae, get Connell started on his feelings for Ronald,” a wizened old man next to Fingal wheezed, “or he’ll be yelling and carrying on the whole rest of the day…as long as the great man himself doesn’t set foot in town, eh?”
“And when was the last time he did that?” Connell challenged him. “When did the ‘great man’ last decide to pay a visit to our village? Does he even still remember that we exist? Or is he too busy getting up to all manner of strangeness up in that decrepit castle of his, hm? Too busy scheming how to seize new lands while neglecting the ones he already has! You’re bloody well right. I’ll carry on about that ghoulish bastard the rest of the day, and the next as well if I have a mind to!”
“Steady on!” the old man cackled, jutting his gnarled thumb in Fergus’s direction. “You might give offense to this lad with such talk, and then he might run and tell the laird how you feel about him! I wouldn’t lay odds on your head remaining attached to your body should that happen,” the old man laughed.
“Ach, he’ll do no such damn thing,” Connell said, giving Fergus a grin. “You’ve only got to look at him to know he’s not from around these parts.”
“You speak the truth,” Fergus confirmed. “I am merely a traveler passing through. I hold no loyalty for Laird Ronald.”
“Quite right, nor should you,” the innkeeper confirmed, refilling Fergus’s tankard of ale. “He demands much, yet he deserves none. Did you hear his own niece allowed herself to be taken from the castle this very morning? She put up no struggle at all, and who can blame her? Better to be ravaged and throat-cut by a brigand than to have a long life beneath the roof of that bastard.”
“I heard no such thing about Laird Ronald’s niece, no,” Fergus answered slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral. “In truth, I did not know that he had one.”
“More than one,” Connell said. “And nephews as well. I’d wager all of them find him hateful.”
“I heard of the incident with his niece this morn, aye!” an excitable lad in the corner chimed in. “Only I heard it was no mere brigand who took her! I heard it was Laird Fergus Brodie! I heard that all of Ronald’s guards have been dispatched to find them and bring them back in irons!”
“If they’re caught,” Fingal chortled, “then the young laird shall surely be beheaded, and the girl worked to death in Ronald’s damnable fields.”
“Is that so?” Connell raised an eyebrow, then turned to peer into Fergus’s face curiously. “Well, then. If that were the case, then Laird Fergus would drink for free in my establishment up until the very moment they captured him. If they captured him,” he amended.
Fergus gave the innkeeper an almost imperceptible nod of gratitude, and at once, it was clear they understood each other perfectly. It seemed that he might be safe in this establishment after all, and for longer than he would have guessed. Indeed, he might have found a much-needed ally.
“Might you be able to point me in the direction of the privy, good sir?” Fergus asked.
“Certainly,” Connell replied affably. “Better still, I shall show you the way.” He jabbed a finger at the old man. “Make sure that everyone keeps their own tally, by God! If I return to find even a drop unaccounted for, I’ll have your hide for a kilt, so I will!”
“Surely you’d not want to wear something so wrinkled?” Fingal guffawed.
Connell stepped out the back door of the tavern, motioning for Fergus to follow. When they were alone behind the establishment, Fergus said, “Thank you indeed for the drinks, good sir, but I would ask you for aid as well if you’re willing to give it.”
“If my aid vexes Laird Ronald, then you shall have it,” the innkeeper answered. “So long as you mean no harm to his poor niece? She is blameless in all of Ronald’s affairs. Indeed, most around here suspect that Ronald was behind the death of his brother and his brother’s wife. That it was a way for him to seize power and lairdship over the clan for himself.”
The words stung Fergus. She had committed grievous sins against him and had almost gotten him killed, but none of that meant she was not “blameless,” did it? She had been dreadfully coerced and intimidated since she was a young girl. And she had tried to alert him to the danger he was in. If it had not been for her admonition, he might have slept last night and been unprepared for the three men who assaulted him.
And now, the idea that her uncle may have murdered her parents in cold blood? He was hardly surprised to learn that a dastardly villain such as Ronald was the prime suspect in such a thing. How could he help but pity her?
He was beginning to regret having left her in that forest. What if her uncle did reclaim her? Worse, what if she was assailed by some serpent or other dangerous creature?
His emotions had gotten the best of him, and he kicked himself for it once more. He wished that he could bitterly lament ever having met or fallen in love with her, and he despised himself for being unable to do so, as he was unwilling to imagine a circumstance in which he had not gazed on one so lovely and enchanting.
“I mean his niece no harm whatsoever,” Fergus answered honestly. “I need a way to get a message to my people, and I need a way to secretly gain entrance to the castle. Might you be able to assist me in such endeavors?”
Connell thought it over for a moment, then nodded. “Do you have a ship anchored at the shore?”
“In truth, sir, I know not,” Fergus replied. “They were meant to wait for my return, but given that it has been over two days, they may have taken it upon themselves to depart.”
“I know a fisherman who can be trusted to carry correspondence in secret,” the innkeeper said. “He can take a message to the beach. If the ship is there, he will deliver it unto the captain. If not, he can transport it to the Isle of Skye in his boat.”
“Excellent,” Fergus told him, clapping him on the shoulder. “I am greatly in your debt. Let the message state that the worst has occurred and that Edmund is to send our forces across the water at once.”
“How can they be sure it is from you?” Connell asked. “Might they not assume they are being led into some sort of trap?”
It was an excellent point, and Fergus was ashamed not to have thought of it himself. Indeed, it was entirely probable that Ronald was in the process of sending some false missive back to the Brodies in order to spring further traps.
“I do not have my wax and seal at hand,” Fergus admitted. He had left it with his other belongings in the guest chambers of the Campbell castle—another tool that he had no doubt Ronald would gleefully use against him. “In the message, remind Edmund of that day by the forest all those years ago, with the goldfinch.”
It was a fond childhood memory they shared, one that they had sworn never to disclose to anyone else. As small boys, they had been told the legend of the uke who became a goldfinch. The two boys were standing in the middle of the woods and stared at all the birds, trying to find the goldfinch, which according to the legend, it is the duke that still hunts the forests. When they couldn’t find the goldfinch, Fergus and Edmund would catch some birds in their little hands, and they would try to learn how to fly. They thought that they could transform as birds and become strong and proud, just like the duke.
The result of these actions was to kill a lot of birds by mistake and that made them regretful and ashamed.
Needless to say, their vow of secrecy had initially come from profound embarrassment. Later in life, they had learned to laugh at the foolishness of their shared youth. Still, they had agreed not to breathe a word of it to anyone else. They were still feeling bad about this incident.
If Edmund ended up with a message in each hand—one with Fergus’s personal seal, the other unsealed but containing mention of this tale—would Edmund trust the latter over the former?
Yes. Fergus firmly believed he would.
“As for getting inside the castle,” Connell went on, “I know a loyal and steadfast man who delivers casks of wine and ale. He is scheduled for such a delivery today. If we were to hide you in one of the barrels—marked Subtly so that he might easily identify it without letting on—then he could deposit you just inside the gates and rap on the lid to signal you.”
Fergus nodded eagerly. “That might work, aye. If you will help me in these ways, friend Connell, I shall repay you and your assistants in sacks of gold and be forever in your debt.”
The innkeeper clasped his hand warmly. “A pleasure to assist, then, Laird Fergus.”
Fergus felt the faintest stirrings of hope within him. Perhaps this might all work out in his favor after all.
