Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton

Chapter Eight

Marion slipped into her father’s study and padded silently across the floor. Her gaze slid over the spines on the bookshelf, searching for the book she knew to be hiding here. It wasn’t as though her father did not allow her to read for pleasure, but he frowned upon it as she’d gotten older. It was unseemly for her to be seeking learning when she should be learning the role she would one day inhabit—her mother’s. But she had spent ample time at her mother’s side and was certain she knew exactly what it took to be the wife of the clan chief. Patience and reserve, both of which she practiced daily.

Dusting her finger lightly along the spines, Marion searched each row of books for her favorite Shakespeare play but came up empty. Where was it?

A small, brown, leather-bound book on the top right corner caught her eye. That was new. Marion knew the books on this bookcase intimately, and that one with the gleaming, smooth cover was a recent addition. Stretching on tiptoe, she reached as far as her arm could go and tapped it until the top of the spine tipped back. Stepping onto the edge of the next shelf, she tugged the book from its place.

Turning it over in her hands, she scrunched her nose. There was no title, no embossed anything to indicate the nature of the book. She peeled back the front cover and paused. It was a ledger of some sort—a journal, perhaps? Dates and small descriptions were punctuated by amounts of money, varying from minuscule sums to decently large amounts.

She flipped through the book, but it was more of the same until it stopped, about a third of the way through, the remainder of the book blank. Marion looked back to the first page but there was nothing to indicate what the money was for, or what the descriptions could mean. It was odd and tucked away in such a place to indicate that it had been hidden, though hidden in plain sight. Why?

Father’s stalwart watchdog, Hugh, had gone off with Kieran on the hunt to bring back Isobel, and every day they were gone was another day the study remained free of its guard. Rory had taken his place, but he wasn’t as diligent in his post. Though with Hugh gone, Father had hardly left this room. And he was likely going to return soon.

Closing the book, Marion tried to return it to its place on the highest shelf, but she couldn’t quite reach.

Footsteps sounded down the corridor, sending her heart to racing, and she hiked up her skirt, stepping onto the lowest shelf and shoving the book into its place. She hopped onto the floor, smoothing her skirts and pretending to analyze a spot on the shelf as her father came into the room, striding directly to his desk and leaning over it, reading a paper he’d left there.

Turning quietly, Marion took a silent step, hoping to slip out before he—

“I ken ye’re there, Marion.”

She froze, swallowing.

He turned, his all-knowing gaze trapping her. “Looking for Shakespeare?”

“Aye.”

“Ye’ve read it twenty times.”

“More like twelve.”

Father chuckled, shaking his head. “Ye need to spend yer time with yer mother, not filling yer head with senseless stories.”

“My head is already full of senseless stories.”

“Aye, ’tis true.” He waved his hand along the bookcase. “But ye willna find it there.” He froze, his sight settling on the highest shelf where she’d just replaced the new leather-bound book. Had she put it in the wrong place? Could Father possibly know with one glance that she’d been snooping?

His gaze slid back to her and searched her face. She did her best to appear impassive, to look innocent, and hoped that in doing so she wasn’t accidentally giving herself away. She’d wanted more time to look through the ledger, to decipher its purpose, but now she would be lucky if she returned to find it in the same place.

“Have ye given it away?” she asked, hoping to steer the conversation back toward Much Ado About Nothing.

“Aye. Now go find yer mother.”

“Yes, Father.” Marion curtsied before turning and walking sedately from the room. She couldn’t make haste or that would surely give rise to suspicion. Instead, she walked regally, keeping her head high and already planning on returning at the next possible opportunity to look at that ledger once more.

* * *

The men stood in a half-circle around Kieran. He itched to rub the back of his neck but kept his hand at his side. If he showed any weakness now, his men would believe he was guilty. He was, but he couldn’t let them see it. He needed to manage this situation with the care of holding a newborn chick, to make certain none of the men would return to Moraigh and tell McEwan that Kieran had commanded them to continue on to Bongary. He hadn’t made this decision lightly, however, and he was willing to suffer the consequences—he knew the weight of a monster clawing at one’s soul—but preferred there not be any consequences to suffer.

A good portion of his night had been spent in quiet reflection, recalling the exact words McEwan had used to send him after Isobel. It wasn’t direct disobedience to continue on to Bongary, not exactly. But that would all depend on how his men viewed this change of plans and what reports they carried back to the chief.

Ian’s dark eyebrows drew together, and he looked out toward the stream where Isobel was filling her flask with water. “It’s only a day’s ride to Bongary, ye say?”

“Aye.” Kieran did his best to sound like he didn’t care one way or the other, that his men could decide whether they continued on or turned for home. They didn’t know that he’d already given Isobel his word.

Ian looked back toward Isobel. “Why canna she drink from this water?”

“It doesn’t hold healing properties,” Rupert said quietly, with reverence. “It’s no’ a healing well.”

“Och,” Ian said. “First kelpies, now healing wells. Ye’re a bunch of daft loons.”

“It works,” Hugh said. “Crabb healed his melancholy at Bongary.”

Ian scoffed.

It was three men to one, but all of them had to be in agreement. Kieran pressed his advantage. “We’d reach Bongary by nightfall, then rest and ride hard for home in the morning.”

“And the redcoats?”

“We willna encounter them if we stay off the main roads.”

“Ye canna promise that.”

“Nay, but we can hope.”

Rupert stepped forward. “I say we go.” He gestured toward the woman at the stream’s edge, her pale blonde hair shining in the morning sun and a troubled, contemplative expression bunching her eyebrows. “She came this far. Whatever it is, it’s important ta her.”

“But McEwan…” Hugh shifted, showing the first sign of discomfort.

Kieran wanted to argue that McEwan had no way of knowing when they’d caught up to Isobel. It certainly could have been at Bongary, given how difficult she’d been to find. It would be foolish, though, to supply his men with the notion that Kieran believed they needed to be dishonest, to hide their actions.

“What ails her?” Ian asked.

Kieran shrugged. “She didna say.”

“That’s no concern of ours,” Rupert said. Had the young man taken a liking to Isobel? He was awfully protective of her.

Kieran rested his hands on his hips, widening his stance and letting an impassive expression fall over his face. His kilt swayed in the slight breeze, pushing against his knees. “We’ll vote. We willna move forward unless each man is in agreement.”

Hugh nodded once, undoubtedly believing this a fair approach. At least this way, if each of them agreed to move on, they carried equal blame for the choice.

Though Kieran shouldered all of the risk, in truth. McEwan wouldn’t punish any of them if he found out. Just their leader.

“All for taking Isobel on to Bongary Spring before returning to Moraigh, say aye.”

“Aye,” Hugh and Rupert said in unison.

A beat of time passed, the air between the men growing thick with unsaid, rippling feelings. Ian dropped his hand to the dirk hilt at his waist. “Aye.”

Kieran nodded once, relieved. “Let’s move.”

He took the path down toward the stream as the men gathered the belongings they’d left near the fire and put everything away in their saddlebags. Isobel stood at the water’s edge, the wind lifting the back of her arisaid and sweeping her skirts against her legs. Her pale blonde hair was tucked back in a tight knot, but strands had already come loose, dancing on the breeze and along the nape of her neck.

“Did they take much convincing?” she asked, not looking at him. How did the woman know when he was nearby? She had an uncanny way of speaking to him without looking at him, without acknowledging his presence. He almost wondered if Isobel had a dislike for him that kept her from looking into his eyes when she spoke to him, but he couldn’t credit it. He’d known her for years, and he couldn’t recall any negative interactions with the woman.

“Nay. They’ve all agreed. Ye’re fortunate we found ye so close to Bongary.”

Her deep brown eyes flicked his way before looking away again. “I worked hard to cover that distance. I certainly wouldna call it fortune.”

Kieran cracked a smile. The woman was so quiet, so unobtrusive, that her quick barbs shocked him. “True. Are ye ready?”

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and his breath caught. Her dark brown eyes peered deeply into his soul, and it was as unnerving as it was pleasant.

“Yes,” she said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “I am ready.”

Isobel stepped past him, and the spell that’d bound him snapped. He waited, wondering exactly what had just occurred and why he’d felt so unbalanced. Isobel tucked her water flask into the saddle bag on Teine’s beautiful, chestnut back and ran her fingers through the horse’s blonde mane. He appreciated her gentleness with the animal and watched her murmur to it, wishing she would slide her gentle fingers along his skin in such a way or murmur to him with tenderness.

Gads, had Kieran just wished he was a bloody horse?

“We’ll stay clear of the main roads,” he said, shaking himself and moving to ready his own mount.

Ian didn’t look too pleased, his gaze shifting between Kieran and Isobel. Kieran focused on mounting his horse and ignored the niggling in his gut. He ought to keep an eye on his friend, though he didn’t relish that inclination. Ian wasn’t a threat to Isobel, but the consistency with which the man watched her bordered on alarming.

Ian had mentioned considering the woman as a potential wife, but it wasn’t about love for him, it was about convenience. As far as Kieran could tell, Isobel didn’t feel the same about Ian.

Leading them through the trees and back to the small lane that wound through the forest, Kieran kept his ears bent toward any sound that didn’t naturally belong. He was grateful when the lane turned, and he was able to glance back at Isobel. As long as they continued on toward Bongary, he was certain they didn’t run the risk of her trying to escape, but he was wary of her doing so all the same.

After an hour of traipsing through the thick brush and dense trees, the lane wound out of the forest and Kieran slowed his horse, allowing it to walk beside Teine. Isobel said nothing to him, but she shifted in her saddle. He could only imagine how uncomfortable she felt after four long days of riding.

“When we’re through, we can consider passing through Duncan territory. We would reach Castle Moraigh in almost half the time.” He glanced at her. “Ye could already have returned home had ye taken that route.”

“I may be brave, but I’m not foolish,” Isobel said. “I knew Duncan lands would have been the quickest route, but there’s no guarantee of safety.”

“There’s no guarantee of safety on McEwan lands, either. No’ for a woman traveling alone. What ye call brave, I call reckless.”

“Reckless, perhaps. But desperation will do that to a creature.”

They continued on in silence, the wind passing between them and lifting the scent of freshly bloomed wildflowers from the earth.

Kieran hadn’t known much of Isobel’s life before she came to Castle Moraigh. He only knew she’d lost her parents to a fire that had reduced her home to ash. They believed the fire had been at the hands of Duncan men but had no way to confirm it.

After coming to Moraigh, Isobel had been well cared for and looked after. She had lived a life of relative ease for something like seven or eight years.

“What reason have ye to be desperate?” he asked.

Isobel touched her wrist, and her sleeve rode up, revealing a thin leather cord wrapped around it and tied into a knot. One side dangled longer than the other, and it tripped a faint, hazy memory. Kieran had seen that leather cord somewhere before.

When Isobel didn’t respond to him, he pressed further. “Ye’ve been taken in by the clan chief, raised nearly as his own daughter, and given every luxury possible.”

“I’m grateful.”

“But desperate?”

She looked at him from the side. “McEwan gave me a home, and I will do my duty to him, but there are some things which canna be banished by pure will. Some things take an outside force to move into action.”

An outside force? “Bongary Spring.”

“Aye.”

Kieran scrubbed a hand over his neck. “Have ye been before?”

“Aye, once. My mother’s friend needed to take the waters. She wasn’t able to keep a bairn in her womb, so we trekked to Bongary, and she left behind the stockings she’d knitted for a bairn she’d lost.”

“It worked,” Kieran said, understanding.

Isobel nodded. “I’ve seen it work with my own eyes. I ken it is a fair distance away, but I was confident I could make it to the spring and return to Moraigh before the feast.” She sent an imploring gaze in his direction, as though her dark brown eyes begged him to understand. “I gave McEwan my word, and I intend to keep it. Ye’re correct. I owe that man my life, and I pledge it to him willingly. I will sacrifice what I must for the clan, but I will do so without the added burden I’ve been carrying.”

“A worthy speech,” Kieran murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from the fire fueling her passionate response and sparkling in her eyes. He didn’t know what she meant when she claimed to have given her word. What had their chief asked of her? “McEwan must be pleased by yer loyalty.”

She chuckled mirthlessly. “At present, there is likely naething about me which pleases him. Not that I blame him. I expect to have much to atone for when I return. The closer we can return to the guests’ arrival, the better.”

It took a moment for her meaning to settle in his mind. “Because ye wish for McEwan to be distracted by his guests and the Duncans so he has less time to be angry with ye.”

“Aye.”

“Clever lass.” Kieran laughed, the sound rolling from his gut, and a smile tugged at Isobel’s pink lips.

A small group of houses appeared at the edge of the treeline, smoke rising and billowing from the chimneys, and Kieran slowed his horse. He wanted to stop and question the people, as he’d done all along the journey, but they didn’t have much time to waste. McEwan had commanded him not to start any trouble, but surely he would want to know about the state of contention among his people.

If he was quick in his questioning, he could catch up to the others shortly, and they wouldn’t lose any time.

“Ian,” he called, and the man immediately brought his horse up beside them. “Take Hugh and Isobel and continue on. I’ll speak with the people here and catch up to ye on the road.”

Ian gave a brisk nod. He looked over his shoulder. “Hugh, come with me.”

Hugh didn’t question the order. He steered off toward the left with Ian and Isobel as Rupert came alongside Kieran and halted. Kieran was aware of a faint disappointment watching Isobel ride away between the two men, a niggling within him that made him wonder if he’d made the right move. Shaking his head, he brushed off the feeling.

He only wanted to speak to Isobel more, that was all. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough information from her, and furthermore, he wanted to understand her better. It had been an arduous journey for Kieran these last few days, and he’d had his men to ease the burdens of keeping watch and obtaining food. He couldn’t imagine what motive a woman had to endure the same alone, nor the fear she must have suffered.

Kieran flicked his head toward the small stone houses. “This way.”

Rupert followed Kieran around the front of the first cottage, and they both slipped down from their horses, pulling the reins over their heads to lead them around the kailyard without disturbing any of the cabbage. A woman sat in front of the house beating a lump of sopping laundry against a board. She glanced up, her eyes narrowing as they fell on the two large, kilted men.

“We want no trouble,” Kieran said, lifting his hand softly. “We’re passing through from Castle Moraigh.”

The woman’s suspicion seemed only to mount. Her thin lips flattened. “The tacksman came for his rent already—”

“We dinna wish to interfere with yer land,” he said calmly. “We are on a journey of a personal nature.”

The woman’s tense shoulders appeared to relax. The wet laundry bunched in her hands rested on the board, water dripping in steady streams into the bucket beneath it. She wiped at her forehead with the back of her wrist and flicked her head to the side. “Ye’ll no’ pass my husband if ye go on behind the house.”

“Should we be wary of meeting him?” They were all McEwan’s men, were they not?

The woman’s grim smile was no comfort. “He’s no’ got a way to ken if ye’re Duncans or no’. We’ve had trouble, and my husband is wary of everyone these days.”

“Is there anything we can report back to Moraigh? Help we can offer?”

There was a moment where the woman appeared as though she was about to speak but then thought better of it and shook her head.

“Do ye run into Duncan trouble this close to the territory border?” Kieran asked.

“Aye. Duncans, redcoats. Who doesna wish to fight these days?” Her bleak perspective wasn’t comforting.

“Do Duncans cross to yer land?”

She nodded. “And we to theirs. There isna much here, but each man must defend his own, ye ken?”

Kieran nodded. He wouldn’t let the actions of others go unanswered either. He’d been hurt by the Duncans and intended to one day exact his revenge, but he needed to learn the name of the man who was responsible first. He was not a supporter of the ideal that the entire clan should suffer because of the ill actions of one man.

No, not when he could make the one man who hurt him suffer.

“Are any of these Duncan men ye come in contact with missing an ear?”

She tucked her chin in surprise. “No’ that I ken.”

Kieran swallowed a curse. He was no closer to discovering the identity of the man who killed his father, and now he wasted time, separating from his group for nothing.

“We’ll be off,” he said, giving the woman a brief smile. “Thank ye.”

She nodded, resuming her scrubbing, and looked away, dismissing them. When they led their horses back around the house and past the kailyard, they remounted and took off in the direction Isobel and the men had gone.

“Do we need to be concerned?” Rupert asked.

Kieran pressed his lips together. The woman’s report wasn’t complimentary on the Duncans’ part, but neither was it a positive reflection of the McEwans. Most of the people he’d stopped to speak with over the course of their journey had similar things to say—and none of them had seen a Duncan man who was missing an ear. He suppressed his frustration and gave Rupert a grim look. “I think we need to be alert. Trouble is coming.”