Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton

Chapter Nine

Isobel had felt uneasy since awakening that morning. Today was the day she would reach Bongary, and she must approach it with faith if she wished for it to work. If there was nothing else she remembered about the process when she accompanied her mother and Mrs. Rae to the spring as a young lass, she could not forget the importance of faith in Mrs. Rae’s healing.

Mrs. Rae’s bairn was proof that the woman had been blessed with faith. Isobel’s fear crowded in, making her uncomfortable and ever reminding her of a distinct possibility: what if it didn’t work? She couldn’t imagine what she would do if all this effort was for nothing.

“Ye need not trouble yerself. They’ll return shortly,” Ian said, glancing sideways at her.

“That isna what troubles me.”

“Nay? Ye can lighten yer burden. I’ve been told I’m a keen listener.” The rakish tilt to Ian’s grin loosened a bit of Isobel’s reserve. He was only a flirt, and she would do better to hold on to her secrets.

She looked over her shoulder. “Hugh, are ye a keen listener too?”

Hugh grinned broadly, clearly having overheard Ian. “Aye.”

Her point had been made.

The small lane they trekked had been cut into the ground from many passing hooves, beaten and worn over time. It was less a lane than it was a path carved from consistent use. It curved into the woods more fully, crossing through the thinning creek bed and onto Duncan territory ahead of them.

Ian pulled his horse to a stop just before touching the water, and silence descended on the group.

“Do we wait for Kieran?” Hugh asked, skepticism in his voice.

“Nay,” Ian said, likely with more confidence than he felt. His hesitance had proven so.

“Is Bongary on Duncan lands?”

“Nay, ’tis on McEwan,” Isobel said proudly. “But we pass through Duncan lands for a short time. We can be quick about it.”

“We can follow the water then, aye?” Hugh asked, clearly nervous. “If the lane passes back over it anyway, we can stay on the stream and remain on McEwan land until we meet back up with the lane.”

“Kieran willna ken our plan, and we could be separated. We stay on the lane.” Ian spurred into action. “Stay close and stay quiet,” he commanded, slopping loudly through the water. He looked over his shoulder once, beyond Hugh, and Isobel wondered if he was looking for Kieran, but he forged ahead.

The feeling of stepping onto Duncan lands was bold and sharp, as if the earth on the opposite bank knew of the strife and hatred its people held for McEwans. Isobel swallowed hard, straining to hear any sound unnatural to the forest, and followed Ian as closely as she was able.

The cover of trees aided them in staying hidden, but it did the same for any enemies who may be lurking in the shadows the forest provided.

They continued in silence, Isobel following Ian’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw. She swept her gaze over the forest in search of people. Hugh clopped behind her, no doubt uneasy as well.

“I dinna like this,” Hugh muttered.

She tried to send him a reassuring smile. “It willna be for long. Another half-hour at most.”

Hugh didn’t appear relieved. They continued on in tense silence; the deeper they ventured into Duncan land, the more uneasy they grew. Each bird call and snapped twig was startling, and the men remained silent, sending Isobel into deeper and deeper concern. If they were this frightened, how bad could the threat of a run-in with a Duncan be?

Pretty awful, she assumed.

“Do ye think we ought to move faster?” Isobel asked. “We can wait for Kieran and Rupert once we’ve crossed back onto McEwan lands.”

Ian looked at her, a dark furrow on his brow. “If ye think ye can do so quietly.”

She nodded, and Ian urged his horse to quicken.

Hoofbeats sounded behind her, and Isobel looked, hoping to see Kieran and Rupert approach from behind. Her heart fell clear to her belly when she laid eyes on a pair of unfamiliar riders.

Duncan men.

Ian immediately slowed his horse. Was he hoping to avoid the appearance of guilt by refraining from running? Surely he didn’t expect to stop and speak to these men.

“Hold,” a man called, his hand up, no weapon within his fist. A peaceful conversation certainly would be fine—as long as it could remain as such. Isobel slowed her horse and turned to face them, Ian and Hugh flanking her.

“What business brings ye here?” the Duncan man called, staying a healthy distance away. He wore a dark brown coat and his hair hung down to his shoulders in stringy, greasy strands.

“Just passing through.” Ian sounded as though he wasn’t the least bit worried, but the jumping muscle in his jaw said otherwise.

“What’s yer destination?” the other Duncan called. “Ye lost?”

“Nay,” Ian replied. “We’re headed to Bongary.”

The men both retreated slightly, their horses dancing on uncertain legs as though sensing their masters’ unease. Isobel’s chest lightened, hope filling it. These men must certainly believe her party to be unclean in some way. Diseased, perhaps. They could not have planned this better had they been intentional in using her destination to drive fear into her enemies.

“Ye’re headed the right way,” one of the Duncans said.

Everyone seemed to be of the same mind. They each nodded an awkward sort of farewell and turned to continue, but the man with the long, stringy hair held Isobel’s gaze for a beat longer than was warranted.

“Where is Kieran?” Hugh asked, looking over his shoulder once they were out of sight.

Ian didn’t answer. “We ought to choose a malady in the case that someone else asks our direction.” He shot Isobel an amused glance. “I didna realize we could use ye to keep others away.”

“That was fortunate,” she said. “They didna even ask our names.”

“We canna count on being so fortunate again,” Ian said quietly. “We must make haste.”

They continued on the lane, hoping to quickly escape the area before the Duncan men could think better of their actions and chase them down. Isobel searched over her shoulder periodically, but Kieran and Rupert were nowhere to be seen.

“McEwan must value ye something fierce to send some of his best warriors after ye,” Ian said, riding beside her.

“’Tis naething like that,” she said. Though, she was uncertain how much of the chief’s plot she was meant to reveal. She hadn’t yet told anyone save Marion what he’d asked of her. Part of her hoped it would not come to fruition, that the laird of Dulnain would arrive at the feast with a changed mind, or else be so impetuous that Alexander McEwan no longer wished to link their clans.

If she failed to speak the words aloud, they would not be entirely real. Not yet.

“What is it like, then?” Ian pressed. “Does he have a purpose for ye?”

“McEwan has a purpose for everything and everyone,” Hugh said, a bite of derision to his tone. “He doesna make a move without a reason. That is enough for me.” He gave Ian a pointed look, as though it should be enough for any McEwan clansman.

Ian lifted one hand in surrender, his other remaining tightly on his reins. “I’m curious, is all. No one is questioning McEwan or why he sent us after her.”

Hugh didn’t look convinced. He eyed Ian but dropped the issue.

Isobel was grateful she hadn’t needed to explain herself. She relaxed, taking in the familiar sight and earthy, thick scent that made up the lands of her birth. She’d grown up in these parts, and while they didn’t look too different from the forest surrounding Loch Gileach near Castle Moraigh, it was home to her. It had a different feeling about it that was equally bitter as it was sweet. She only wished her parents were with her.

Ian sucked in a quick breath, and Isobel followed his gaze to the small group of men barring the path ahead of them. She pulled Teine’s reins quickly, halting and moving to the side to avoid colliding with Hugh behind her.

“Halt,” a man called.

Ian’s hand went directly to his belt. He removed his gun with lightning-fast motion and pointed it directly at the man in the center of the lineup opposite them. There were five in total wearing dark tartan kilts, their mostly unfamiliar faces marking them Duncans. The men from before flanked the man in the center, and it was clear the stringy-haired man had only allowed them to leave so he could fetch more of his kin.

“We dinna want any trouble,” Ian said. “Let us pass, and we’ll be off yer land soon.”

Their faces hardened, and Isobel immediately knew Ian’s mistake. Off yer land. He had made it clear they were trespassing.

“State yer business.”

“As we said before, we’re traveling to Bongary Spring,” Hugh called. “Our sister is ill, and we wish to heal her.”

Sister. Very wise of Hugh.

“What ails her?” another one called, his face dirty and his beard unkempt. These men did not appear to have much care for their appearance.

Hugh and Ian both hesitated. Seconds ticked by, too long. Isobel watched the Duncans exchange glances, and panic rose within her. She’d never come face to face with a Duncan before today, not since going to live at Castle Moraigh, and some of these men were old enough to have been grown men when her house burned.

Any of these men could have been holding the torch.

“Chincough,” she called at the same time that Hugh began to say, “Small—”

She shot him a look. They would never believe she had the pox. Her skin was flawless.

“A small case of it,” Hugh corrected swiftly.

Isobel turned her head and coughed, pushing as much force behind it as she was able.

“But ’tis worsening rapidly, and we wish to heal her before our entire family falls ill.”

One of the Duncan men’s eyebrows hitched sympathetically, and his arm lowered slightly. The rest of the guns remained steadily aimed at Isobel, Ian, and Hugh.

“We dinna want trouble,” Ian repeated calmly. “We only wish to pass through yer land to reach Bongary.”

“My sister didna want trouble either,” the man in the middle said, his voice dangerously low, “but it found her anyway. Men rode through yesterday and took half her livestock. What’s she meant to live on now?”

“I’m sorry for what happened ta yer sister, but it wasna us.” Ian moved his gun, putting out both arms in a show of standing down. “We’re just travelers. Ye can plainly see we dinna have any livestock.”

It was a faultless point, but the Duncan leader didn’t look as though it mattered to him. He was hurt, angry, and wanted justice. Isobel understood the feelings all too well. She coughed again, this time not bothering to turn her head. Two of the men grimaced, turning away, but the leader held strong, his gun unwavering.

“How do we ken ye’re telling the truth?” the leader called.

Isobel coughed again, putting as much force behind it as she could. She continued to cough, the action causing a legitimate need, and she ached to replenish her dry throat with water.

“We dinna want trouble,” Hugh added, bringing his horse closer to Isobel.

The leader’s jaw firmed. “Then ye shoulda stayed off ma land.” He shifted his hand and aimed his gun toward Isobel.

A shot fired to her side, the boom resounding in the air, and smoke billowed from Ian’s gun. Hugh rode in front of Teine and pushed her back behind the copse of trees before sliding down from his saddle and reaching for Isobel’s hand. He dragged her further into the brush, and their horses followed, skittish from the repeating gunshots smashing into bark around them.

“What of Ian?” she shouted.

Hugh looked behind her through wild, nervous eyes. “He’s over there.” He pointed to some trees farther away where Ian crouched, reloading his gun. She couldn’t see his horse from where she was sitting. The Duncans had done the same, falling back and taking cover behind the thicker beech trees.

Standing, Hugh leaned around the tree and aimed his gun toward the Duncans.

“How did it come to this?” Isobel asked quietly.

Hugh shook his head, then went still in order to shoot. “Bloody feud. All we wanted was to pass.”

“’Tis time for a change.”

“Aye,” Hugh agreed, crouching to reload his gun again. “But perhaps we can focus our efforts on the Duncans now and worry over the change later?” He flashed her a smile.

A shot smashed into the ground beside Isobel, and she clamped her mouth closed to avoid screaming. She’d never been shot at before, and it was terrifying. Her blood raced, but her body was cold.

“Where are Kieran and Rupert?”

* * *

Kieran directed his horse over the stream that made up the boundary line and crossed into Duncan territory, and his skin immediately prickled. He swept his gaze over the forest around him, his ears alert to any sound that would indicate they weren’t alone. He’d have preferred to follow the stream and skirt the Duncan territory, but without having planned to do so ahead of time, that action had the potential to separate him and Rupert from the rest of their party.

“The woman was afeared,” Rupert said, bringing his horse up beside Kieran’s. “I think they must have more quarrels down here than we have at Moraigh.”

“I had the same thought.” Indeed, they trained relentlessly at Moraigh but hadn’t seen any battles in quite some time. The woman had made it seem like contention was a regular occurrence in this part of the McEwan lands.

“Perhaps when we pass through on the way back, we can speak to the others. If there is unrest, McEwan will surely wish to ken the depth of it.”

Kieran glanced at Rupert appraisingly. He’d made an astute observation and offered a feasible plan. Kieran took some pride in Rupert’s growth. He was developing into a fine man.

A gunshot rang through the air ahead of them on the path, and Kieran looked sharply toward the sound as icy, cold dread slid down his spine.

He shared a look with Rupert before kicking the sides of his horse, urging the beast to move on with haste. The trees were dense, making it difficult to see very far ahead of him, and the sound of hoofbeats punctuated the silence. He could hear Rupert on his tail and spurred his horse faster, hoping the gunshot had been an attempt at snagging a hare and not something worse.

But his men wouldn’t shoot a hare in the middle of the day on enemy land. They were smarter than that, and his confidence on this matter only heightened his dread.

Dark forms appeared in the distance, hazy through the trees, and Kieran recognized the forms of men and horses, some men seated and some crouched on the ground, using thick tree trunks for cover. He made out Ian’s form hiding behind a tree and dismounted; he left his horse and picked his way quickly and quietly toward him.

“Bloody Duncans,” Ian seethed, clutching his arm. Red oozed between his fingers and dripped down his sleeve. His jaw was firm, and he clearly looked to be in pain.

Another shot sounded, and Kieran assessed the men hiding in the trees opposite, smoke wisping out from the guns and revealing their hiding places through the branches. There appeared to be four of them, from what he could see.

“Isobel?”

Ian hitched his jaw to the side. “She’s wi’ Hugh behind those trees.”

A shot rang out, smoke billowing behind the trees where Hugh and Isobel hid. Hugh must have hit a tree not far in front of the opposition, splintering the bark and spraying debris.

Rupert threw himself behind a nearby birch, his chest heaving as he gripped his gun in a white-knuckled clutch.

Kieran wanted this over with, now. “What happened?”

“Duncan men came upon us,” Ian said through gritted teeth. “They let us pass once we told them of Bongary. Believed Isobel’s illness to be worth steering clear of—or so we thought. Really, they’d only gone ta fetch more men. They cut us off further up the way and wouldna let us pass.”

“Were ye peaceable?”

“Aye. We told them repeatedly that we didna want trouble, but they’ve been losing livestock to McEwans and want blood.” His lip curled in derision. “Dinna care whose it is.”

Kieran settled his back against the tree and contemplated the situation. “Who shot first?” he asked.

Ian’s eyes flashed. “Us.”

Kieran swore under his breath. This didn’t bode well for them.

“I’ll explain later,” Ian said through labored breaths.

Aiming his gun toward the men hiding behind the trees on the other side of the lane, Kieran aimed and fired, then hid again to reload his pistol. Hugh got another shot off, though Kieran couldn’t tell if it had been more successful than the last.

“Can ye make a run for it?” Kieran asked, focusing on his gun.

Ian grimaced. “Aye.”

Kieran whistled, and Hugh peered out from behind his tree. He looked relieved to find Kieran there and raised his eyebrows as if asking what he should do.

Motioning toward the horses, Kieran lifted his gun and pointed toward himself with his free hand. He could hold the Duncans off while his men got away. They needed to get Isobel out of there. He pointed toward the east and made a hand motion to signal water. They would meet on the other side of the stream.

Ian seemed to understand, and he and Hugh both nodded approval of the plan.

Kieran glanced at Rupert. “Ye’ll remain wi’ me.”

Rupert nodded, resolute. He was proving to be valuable in a time of need, and Kieran was glad to be correct in his estimation of the young man.

Kieran lowered his voice to a rough whisper as the frenzy of the moment buzzed within him. This was where he thrived—in the midst of battle. His adversary sat just through the trees. A Duncan man had taken his father’s life with little remorse. He had the chance now to send his men away and make the Duncans suffer for what their kinsmen did. But that wouldn’t be satisfying, and he’d promised McEwan he would not cause trouble.

Besides, he only had eyes for one man.

“Was there a man with a black beard?” Kieran asked, catching Ian off guard.

Ian blinked, his dark eyebrows drawing close. “I dinna ken. Not that I recall.”

It was a fickle identifier, even Kieran knew that. “Did ye notice any men missing an ear?”

Ian shook his head. “I canna rightly say.”

No, of course not. No one looked to a man’s ears first. No one but Kieran, that is. Ian sucked in a quiet breath, and Kieran shook himself. He needed to put his men before his revenge. “Wait for Rupert and me to start shooting, then run.”

Ian nodded. “We’ll cross the stream and move south.”

“Wait for us at the crossroad if we havna reached ye by then. Put as much distance between ye and the stream as ye can manage.”

Ian nodded, then pushed off from the tree. He didn’t release his bloodied arm, and Kieran was worried about what that could mean. Ian was one of the toughest men he knew. If he was that pained, they could be in deep trouble.

Kieran shook his head. He’d need to worry about that later. Another shot whirled past his tree, and Kieran pressed himself against the bark, the hard ridges digging into his shoulder blades as he mouthed a prayer to get his men to safety. He didn’t wish to kill anyone today, but he would do what he must for his men.

“Now,” he said softly. Rupert was ready, and they both turned, shooting at the remaining Duncans. Ian made a run for his horse, and Kieran registered hoofbeats as they rode away. He only hoped Isobel, Hugh, and Ian had all made it into their saddles. He reloaded and shot again, giving them plenty of time to get clear of the forest.

Rupert followed his lead, reloading and shooting as the Duncans volleyed shots back. They weren’t getting anywhere with this, and they’d need to make a run for it soon.

Kieran caught Rupert’s eye and motioned toward the horses. They waited until another shot went off and ran, taking cover behind the trees and darting between shots that clipped nearby bark and showered them with sprays of dirt.

They mounted their horses and took off toward the stream, galloping dangerously across the uneven ground and picking their way in the direction Kieran thought the stream most likely to be.

“What was that about?” Rupert called, eyes wide as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Just the bloody clan dispute,” Kieran said, his chest heaving and blood pumping hard in his ears. The sight of Ian’s red, bloodied hand and dripping arm was seared into Kieran’s thoughts, and he couldn’t draw a full breath. They needed to find the rest of their party, reach safety, and see to Ian’s wound before it was too late.