The Condemned Highlander by Donna Fletcher
20
“Thank you for taking the brunt of the fall,” Annis said with a soft laugh the next morning as they continued on their journey.
“It was my turn since you took the previous one,” Brogan said, glad his wife saw humor in their mishaps and did not think their lovemaking cursed. He thought that too soon.
“Do you think the curse plagues our lovemaking?” she asked seriously, then burst out laughing and waved her hand dismissing it. “An absurd thought. The little mishaps will cease once we can make love in a secure dwelling.”
His wife saw logic where he saw the curse interfering in every aspect of his life. This was one time he hoped her logic proved true.
They took the route along the fast-moving stream as if it was rushing to get somewhere important. Annis wished her quest would go as fast.
Her glance fell on the path and her eyes lit with excitement. “Wheel tracks,” she cried out, pointing to the ground. “We need to pick up our pace before they get too far ahead of us, and we chance losing them.”
Brogan agreed with a nod, and they were soon traveling at a faster pace.
The day wore on with disappointment. Following the tracks, then losing them and finding no traveling merchant. They would have to stop soon since dusk wasn’t far off.
“We will crest that small hill and settle for the night by the stream,” Brogan said as disappointed as his wife was since he wanted this done sooner than later as much or possibly more than her.
Annis nodded, annoyed, though that changed as soon as they reached the top of the small hill and spotted the cart camped for the night by the stream. Anticipation squeezed as they followed a worn path down the hill and dismounted to approach the campsite.
The man shot to his feet and uncertainty sparked in his eyes as soon as he spotted Brogan and Annis approach.
His portly shape and well-tended garments were evidence of a successful merchant. His gray hair—neatly secured at the nape of his neck—and gray bushy eyebrows along with his many wrinkles declared his advanced age. However, it was the woman Annis was more interested in and was disappointed to see that she was sleeping near the fire wrapped snug in her cloak. It would be rude of her to wake the woman.
The man’s nervous demeanor calmed some when his glance fell on Brogan.
“Lord Brogan, how may I be of service to you?”
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You are familiar with me while I am not so with you,” Brogan said, not taking his eyes off the man. Grendel had warned him that the merchant could be a sly one.
“I am Fenton, my lord, a lowly merchant who has stopped by Clan MacRae often to sell my wares. I would be pleased to have you and your friend join me for the night. Darkness will fall soon and there is more safety with others.”
Brogan took the opportunity to acknowledge the sleeping woman. “Your friend will not mind?”
“Luna is a poor woman who I took pity on and graciously agreed to transport to the next village. The pitiful soul suffers with a bad limp which makes it difficult for her to travel. Please do join me, Lord Brogan. I have a delicious fish stew ready to eat.”
“I appreciate your generosity, Fenton,” Brogan said.
“I am only too pleased to serve you, my lord. Sit. Please sit,” he said with a respectful nod. “Your companion can serve you.”
Anger flashed in Annis’s eyes and Brogan was quick to reprimand the man. “Lady Annis is my wife.”
“Forgive me, my lord, and congratulations. Your father and mother must be thrilled,” Fenton said.
Brogan could tell that the man’s wise smile was false. He would need to keep an eye on him. He took his wife’s arm to assist her to sit by the fire while he saw to the horses.
Fenton did most of the talking while they ate, boasting about his travels and the many important people he had met.
“Your name is widely known, my lord. All are curious about you,” Fenton said.
Grendel had been right about the merchant. He was a sly one. He was looking for information and being a merchant, he imagined the man saw information as a commodity to sell.
“You mean they are curious about the curse,” Brogan corrected.
“Aye, that they are,” Fenton said with a nod.
Brogan said no more, which meant he would hear no more about it. He wasn’t surprised when his wife spoke up, having wondered how she kept from saying anything before this moment.
“Where do your travels take you now?” Annis asked.
She had maintained an unusual silence, watching the man as he spoke with her husband. He was more than a simple merchant. His fine garments hinted at that. What he sold bought far more wealth than mere wares. He was a procurer of information.
“I have a few more stops in the area, your home being one of them, Lord Brogan,” he said with a pleasant smile.
Annis was well aware that he avoided actually answering her and that his face seemed stuck in a perpetual smile, meaning it wasn’t real. She decided to test her theory of what he truly sold.
She slipped her hand in her husband’s and gave it a light squeeze, hoping he would understand what she was about to do. “Would you go fetch the blankets? I grow cold.”
Brogan eyed her suspiciously for a moment but the way she had squeezed his hand, he understood that she asked for his trust, and he gave it to her.
“Anything for you, my love,” he said and kissed her cheek.
“Kind, sir,” she said, getting Fenton’s attention as soon as her husband was out of sight. “Have you by chance heard any news about Lord Rannick? I heard a rumor but do not know if I trust the source.”
His eyes turned wide, and his grin faltered. “What news is that?”
Annis shook her hand in front of his face. “I do not like to spread falsities about people.”
“But I heard something as well, perhaps we can share what we have heard and see if it is the same,” he suggested.
She looked over her shoulder as if fearful of her husband’s return. “Someone told me I could make good coin with what I know.”
“I can get you more than good coin if the information proves worth it,” Fenton said, his own eyes keeping a watch for Brogan.
“Tell me what you know first,” she bargained.
Fenton was quick to share. “A wife has been forced on Lord Rannick and her death is expected any time now.”
Annis almost gasped but forced it back. Her theory was correct. The man dealt in information, but she would not let him deal in her sister’s life.
She shook her head. “I heard differently.”
Fenton grew more interested, moving from where he sat opposite the fire from her to sit beside her. “What have you heard? I may be able to get you good coin for it.”
Annis sent a glance over her shoulder again, hoping it alerted her husband not to return yet. “I heard his new wife does well and there will soon be news of an impending bairn.”
Fenton drew his head back in shock. “Who did you hear this from?”
“I will not divulge names, but I can affirm that it was someone extremely close to Lord Rannick’s wife. Is it worth any coin?”
He reached in the pouch at his waist and gave her a gold coin. “There are those who will want to hear that.”
Annis pretended to grow excited and hugged the coin in her hand. “You are so generous. Thank you. Thank you.”
Fenton waved her praise away and returned to sit opposite the fire from her lost in his thoughts.
Brogan returned, draping the blanket around his wife who appeared visibly shaken. She had heard something that upset her, but he could not take a chance and ask at this moment. It would have to wait and that annoyed him.
Fenton returned to talking about his travels and when they bedded down for the night, Brogan wrapped himself tightly around his wife.
“You will tell me what was said tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear. “Now, sleep. I will watch over you.”
She cuddled against him, feeling safe in his arms and snug against his strong, warm body, and she soon was sound asleep.
Not so Brogan. He did not trust Fenton and they were far too vulnerable camped out in the open. He ran different scenarios through his mind, determining an escape route for each one. His wife’s safety was all that mattered. He would not see her harmed and the way she slept peacefully in his arms meant she trusted him to keep her safe. He had no intentions of letting her down.
He had learned to exist on little sleep when in battle. Often, he had only a short reprieve before fighting would start again. He would sleep lightly, alert to all around him, ready to draw his sword against the enemy. Those skills would serve him well tonight.
As the night went on, his wife stirred restlessly in his arms. Her worries had invaded her sleep and he did all he could to calm her. He slept lightly and briefly on and off throughout the night. When dawn barely peaked on the horizon, he heard Fenton quietly rise and he watched through narrowed eyes, that appeared to rest in sleep, as he gathered his blanket and slipped silently away.
He reluctantly unwrapped himself from around his wife and when she attempted to blink sleep out of her eyes, he whispered, “Stay as you are. I will return shortly.”
Her eyes closed, though he doubted she would return to a deep sleep. His steps were light, though it did not matter. Fenton was too busy hitching his horse to his cart to hear him.
“Leaving us?” Brogan asked and Fenton cried out in fright.
He placed his hand to his chest as he turned to face Brogan. “You frightened the wits out of me.”
“Why do you sneak off?” Brogan demanded.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I have wares to sell and the old woman with the limp slows me down. I knew if I left, you would see her safely to where she wishes to go. I do not mean to be cruel, but I must tend to my business.”
“I want my coin back.”
Both men turned to see the old woman standing there, Annis stood beside her.
“I paid good coin for you to take me to my destination. I will have it back since you failed to deliver me where we agreed.”
“I took pity on you and barely charged you anything,” Fenton argued, keeping his eyes off Brogan.
Brogan threw the man’s words back at him. “I thought you said you took pity on her poor soul and helped her out of the goodness of your heart?”
“He has no heart,” Luna said. “He sells whatever he can get his hands on. If I were not so old, he would sell me too.”
Fenton shook his head. “She knows not what she says, and I need to be on my way.” He hurried up onto the cart’s seat.
“Give her the coin she paid you,” Brogan ordered sharply.
Fenton didn’t argue. His fingers fumbled nervously as they dipped into his purse at his waist and withdrew a coin and threw it at Luna.
Brogan grabbed the horse’s bridle. “Go pick up the coin and hand it to Luna.”
Fenton looked ready to argue, thought better of it and hurried off the cart to do as Brogan demanded.
“Do not show yourself at Clan MacRae again,” Brogan warned.
“That would be a decision left to your mother,” Fenton said with a lift of his chin.
“And pummeling you into the ground would be a decision left to me if I see you there again,” Brogan threatened with an anger to his voice that had Fenton nodding profusely. “Be off with you and do not ever let me see your face again in these parts.” As the cart rumbled away, Brogan looked to Luna. “We will take you where you need to go.”
Luna held out the coin to him.
“I do not want your coin. You have something else we want—information. Give us that and I will see you safely to your destination.”
She nodded, agreeing.
Brogan stoked the fire, the morning having dawned with a heavy chill, then helped Luna to sit close to the heat of the flames. She wasted no time in stretching her slim hands out to the warmth.
Annis draped a blanket around the woman’s shoulders after seeing her shiver, then sat with her husband opposite her. She cast a curious glance over her, trying to determine if she had ever seen her before. Gray had devoured the few long, curly strands of red hair left, but surprisingly her face held few wrinkles. She had no stoop that came with age, though her limp was heavily pronounced. No memory recalled ever seeing her yet somehow, she seemed familiar to Annis.
“You are both kind,” Luna said with a nod. “Now tell me what you want from me.”
Annis spoke up and bluntly. “Information on the MacWilliam bairn whose life was to be taken about twenty years ago—but lived.”
“Why would I know anything about that?” she asked innocently.
Again, Annis was blunt. “Because the witch in the hills sent me to find you.”
That Luna did not respond with shock or denial, told Annis that she was no innocent.
Luna’s glance shifted to Brogan. “If I share what I know, will you offer me protection, my lord?”
“There is a village by the hills not far from where the witch lives where you will be safe,” he said.
“How can you be sure?” Luna asked.
“It is my village, and I will see no harm comes to you,” he said. “But what of your destination?”
“It matters not. I will go where I will be safe,” Luna said and turned her attention back to Annis. “First, I must make you aware of Fenton. He is not a merchant of wares, but of information. He would pay dearly for what I am about to tell you.”
“I thought the same myself and put my theory to a test.” Annis glanced quickly at her husband. “That is why I sent you to fetch the blankets last night. I told him I had information and wondered if I could get coin for it. He paid me one coin.”
“I had thought that myself,” Brogan admitted and did not ask what information she gave Fenton. She obviously did not want to say in front of Luna. Something Fenton said suddenly came to mind.
I stop often at Clan MacRae.
Had he stopped to learn information, or had he delivered information? And if so, to who?
Annis took hold of her husband’s hand as she said, “Please share with us what you know of the MacWilliam bairn.”
Luna cast leery eyes around the surrounding area.
“Fenton does not linger,” Brogan said confidently. “He was anxious to leave this morning, which means he is eager to sell the news Annis has shared with him.”
Luna nodded and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I can tell you what was told to me recently. The MacWilliam bairn lives. Lady Aila’s servant, Gunna, got the bairn to safety, but knowing they would be after her, she gave the lass to a childless couple. Lord Lochlann and your father, Lord Balloch, claim they killed the lass and possibly Gunna, since she was never seen after that,” Luna said.
“Who told you this?” Annis asked.
“That is the strange part. A woman crippled with age approached me one day and told me.” Luna shrugged. “I do not know why she chose me to tell. I have shared it with no one, fearful if I did—I would suffer for it. Meeting you and having you ask me about it, I see the information was meant for you.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Annis asked, disappointed, having believed the woman with the limp would have had more information concerning the MacWilliam lass for them.
“Aye,” Luna said with a nod, though appeared reluctant to say.
“Tell us,” Brogan ordered.
Luna nodded. “The woman says that Gunna lives and has returned to save the lass from the three lords one last time.”
