Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone

Twelve

Royce had no more than shut the solar door behind Thor when Brus and Magnus entered the room. Royce motioned for everyone to sit, then faced Thor. “Tell us the news.”

“Royce is as lighthearted as ever, Thor,” Brus drawled. He reached for the pitcher of mead on the table and poured his goblet to the brim, then swigged it all down in one gulp. He swiped his hand over his mouth and sat.

A jerking tic began near his right eye. Normally, his brother’s blithe attitude toward life since Sebille had wed another didn’t bother Royce overly much, but it was irritating the devil out of him today, and he suspected it was because of what Brus had said to him about not having to wed Abigail to bed her. He wished he could have that view. His life would be far easier if he could simply slake his lust with a willing wench and not care if her feelings were hurt when he wanted nothing more, but he was not made like his brother. His damn conscience would bludgeon his brain if he bed Abigail only to discover she wanted more than a romp, and knowing that irritated him. His life consisted of order, structure, and discipline, and he wanted to keep it that way. He’d deviated with Lara, and it had been a fatal mistake.

“I do nae have the luxury as laird of being lighthearted, Brother. I leave that to ye. Now,” Royce said, focusing on his cousin, who was a giant of a man and a renowned swordsman like his father, Royce’s uncle Lachlan. But that was where their similarities ended. Whereas Uncle Lachlan was a devoted husband, Thor had hunted his own wife down for treason against the king. He had not found her, but he had hunted her. They shared that in common, Royce and Thor—wives who had betrayed them on the deepest of levels. “Tell us the news our father has bade ye to bring.”

“There are whispers that the king of England has a handful of powerful nobles who have gathered to rise up against him,” Thor said. “Our own King Robert bade yer father to enlist one of ye to discover who the nobles are so he can pass the names to King Edward.”

Magnus frowned. “Why would King Robert wish to—”

“He’s currying favor from the English king,” Royce said, answering Magnus’s question before he’d even finished it. “’Tis the way of kings.” He’d learned that well from his own father’s dealing with King David, who’d been his father’s good friend most times but a splinter in his arse at others. “The question is, why?” Royce stared at Thor, waiting for the answer.

“Because King Robert may have technically lost power to his son Carrick when the foolish Scot’s council took it from the king, but the king is nae unfit to rule, as Carrick and the corrupt council would have all of Scotland believe. He has been, in fact, the voice of reason that stands between Scotland and a war with England.”

“How can ye say such a thing?” Brus demanded. “The king has long blamed the border magnates for the escalating attacks on the English zones, and then he turns a blind eye and does nae a thing to stop it. ’Tis part of the reason the coup against him was successful. The people of Scotland want the lawlessness at the borders to stop.”

“Do nae be a blind fool, Brus,” Royce said. “The people of Scotland want to gain possession of all the land at the Scottish-English border, and they do nae care how that happens. So long as we Scots recapture the English zones that have been partitioned out to English lords, we will prevent England from ever repossessing Scotland again. But I imagine”—he swiped a hand over his stubble as he thought upon it all—“that there is a way to repossess the land without starting a downright war.”

“Aye,” Thor said, nodding. “’Tis exactly what the king and your father think. The way is slow and methodical. If we take a little land here and there, we do nae embarrass the king of England too much; therefore, he ignores it. If we rush it, Edward will turn his eye to war with us. King Robert wanted to prevent that, if possible, to give us ample time to obtain more of England’s land, but Edward’s attention is currently on us and talk of war is afoot. But so is talk of rebellion against King Edward by his own nobles.”

“Which nobles?”

“Arundel, for one,” Thor said, a wicked smile twisting his lips.

Royce felt his brow rise in surprise. “Yer wife’s English godfather?”

“One in the same,” Thor confirmed. “It seems no one in that family is loyal to the king they profess to be faithful to.”

“Who else is involved in this rebellion against King Edward, and why do we even care?” Brus asked. “Let his own kill him for us.”

“The group rising against the English king is said to be called the Appellants,” Thor said, bypassing Brus’s comment. “From what I’ve been able to discern, it’s made up of seven men from the traditional noble houses that Edward has always scorned. I only know one name for certain: Richard Fitzalan, the Fourth Earl of Arundel, whom I’ve already named.” He paused overly long, and his gaze settled on Brus. “I’ve heard whispers of the other men who might be involved. King Robert has tasked me with obtaining the names of all seven men, as well as gathering irrefutable proof that he can pass to King Edward in exchange for Edward not waging war against Scotland over the border raids.”

“King Robert is canny, though the Scottish council fails to see it,” Magnus said.

“Aye,” Royce agreed. “The king purchases time with this.” Royce locked gazes with Thor. Royce wasn’t asking a question; he was making a statement.

Thor nodded. “Aye, and the king is canny, but this was yer father’s idea.”

Royce could not help but grin. His father was a brilliant strategist and age had not diminished that one bit, and if things had not changed between his parents, Royce would wager his mother had helped his father come up with the plan. “The king will strengthen our army and borders with this time, I presume?”

“Ye presume correctly,” Thor confirmed. “He knows war is inevitable with England, but he’d have us in the best position before it occurs. And that’s why I’m here. Yer father and the king sent me to collect ye, Royce. They bade ye to come with me to secure the names and proof of the other nobles involved in the rebellion.”

Royce immediately thought of Abigail. He didn’t know why, but her image was the first in his head. Perhaps it was because she was to care for his daughters, and he had not known her long at all so he was reluctant to leave them in her total care. Yes, that had to be it. Besides, there was the situation with Elena ending her engagement to the MacNeil to be addressed.

“Now is nae a good time for me to leave,” Royce said.

Thor frowned. “Why?”

Royce opened his mouth to answer, but Brus spoke. “He wants to bed the new lass that’s come to be the caretaker of his daughters.”

Royce turned to glare at his brother. “It’s nae too late for me to take yer tongue.”

“Ye would nae,” Brus said, his tone jovial.

His brother was right, of course, but annoyance was flowing hot and thick through Royce’s veins. “I do nae want to bed the lass,” he lied, narrowing his eyes at Thor so he’d know the subject was to be dropped. Thor nodded his understanding. “I’ve been gone much of late, and I have to depart again to deal with another mess with Elena.”

“Did Elena break another betrothal?” Thor asked.

“Aye,” Royce said. “I sent Laird MacNeil away with a threat, but I’ve nae any doubt he’ll try to retaliate. I need to see if I can smooth things between our clans, and if nae, then I’m certain there’ll be a skirmish.”

“Ye’re right, then,” Thor said. “Ye kinnae leave.” Thor’s gaze fell to Brus.

Brus gave a tight chuckle. “I suppose my da told ye I was nae to be asked to aid ye.”

“Nay,” Thor said, knowing just as Royce did the complicated history between Brus and their father. Their father was a tough but good man, but he was especially hard on Brus, as he felt Brus had failed to live up to his potential. “He merely said to judge myself if I thought ye were up to the task.” Ever since Sebille had failed to show up on her and Brus’s wedding day and later reappeared wed to an English border lord, Brus had cared little for anything but bedding women, drinking mead, and partaking in tournaments that brought him wealth, which explained their father’s worry over Brus.

A dark look swept Brus’s face. “And ye do nae think I am, I presume, since ye did nae ask me.”

“I sensed in ye great turmoil over Sebille still, and I fear that turmoil will cause ye to be rash and make mistakes that could cost us greatly.”

“There’s nae any turmoil in me over Sebille,” Brus said, but his harsh tone and tense manner conveyed a different truth. “I’ve forgotten her.”

“Oh aye?” Magnus replied, his own look and tone showing his disbelief.

“Aye,” Brus sneered. “And even if I hadn’t, what matter is it? It’s nae as if I’d see her.”

“Ye could,” Thor said. “I’ve heard whispers, as I said, of possible leads to two other English lords that might be in this Appellant group, and one of the names I heard whispered is Henry Bolingbroke.”

Royce’s attention flew from Thor to Brus to gauge his brother reaction in hearing that the husband of the woman Brus had loved might be in rebellion against his king. Brus’s expression was inscrutable. A long pause fell, and then he finally shrugged, as if the information meant nothing to him. “If the man is involved, I’ll help ye discover it for our king, and if I see Sebille in the process, it means naught to me. She does nae matter to me, so ye need nae fear I will be rash.”

“Nay?” Thor prodded.

“Nay,” Brus replied.

“Fine. Then ye will accompany me.”

“Ye said ye heard whispers of two names.” Royce kicked his legs out in front of him and poured himself a hearty cup of wine. “Who’s the other?” he asked, taking a long pull of wine.

“Frederick Sotherby. An English lord of little consequence himself, except his father, Baron Villers, is verra powerful and is supposed to be one of King Edward’s greatest allies. If his son is one of the Appellants then that means either his father is involved, as well, or his father does nae know the son is involved and, therefore, has failed to control his son. Either way, it would be a big boon for King Robert to present evidence of one of them being involved—even better if ’tis both of them.”

“So where will ye and Brus go first?” Royce asked, pouring wine into the goblet that Thor held out to him.

“Well, we still need to discern that,” Thor said.

“Where is Sotherby located?” Brus poured himself another goblet of wine and quaffed the contents down in one gulp—again.

Royce clenched his jaw on commenting. Brus may not admit to himself that Sebille still had the power to affect his mood, but it was obvious to Royce. It was apparently obvious to Thor, too, because he gave Royce a sidelong look that was shadowed with concern. Royce discreetly shook his head against Thor pulling Brus from the task. Royce’s instincts were telling him that this assignment might be the very thing to shake Brus from the grip of madness that had been holding him for too long.

“Durham,” Thor answered, “verra near Bolingbroke’s castle. We’ll encounter Sotherby’s home first on our travels, and I’ve a letter from King Robert offering Sotherby a trade of land, which gives us an excellent excuse to be there.”

“Does the king really propose to trade land?”

“Nay,” Thor said, grinning. “But yer mother came up with the ruse. She said English lords are so verra full of self-importance that it would most likely nae ever occur to Sotherby to question why the king of Scotland would trade a parcel of land with him. While we’re there, we’ll have to work our Scots magic and acquire the information we need.”

“We’ll get him in his cups,” Brus proposed.

“Aye,” Thor agreed. “’Twas one of the strategies I had in mind.”

The discussion went from there to all the ways they might discover if Lord Sotherby was one of these Appellants. After many suggestions, they settled on spying.

Once that was concluded, they broke for supper, during which Royce had to listen to no less than three clan disputes. It wasn’t until Royce was back in the solar with the other men to continue their discussion that he realized he had not even seen his daughters or Abigail at supper. He called in a guard and sent him to fetch his girls or Abigail to him, just to assure himself the girls were safe, and when the servant didn’t immediately return, Royce’s pulse picked up several beats. He looked to Brus, who knew him better than anyone.

“They’re fine,” Brus said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ye worry too much.”

Ignoring his brother’s comment, Royce looked to Magnus, who rose with a nod. “I’ll fetch them, but the hour is late. What if the wee lassies are abed?”

“Then leave them be,” Royce said, “but send Abigail to me. I need to let her know to check in with me every night after the girls are abed, so I know they are safe.” He ignored the voice in his head that reminded him he could tell her tomorrow. It wasn’t simply because he wanted to see her, he told himself. He was not one to put things off, and she needed to understand his wishes, which he had obviously failed to make clear.

When the solar door swung open not long after Magnus departed, Royce looked to it, stopping mid-sentence, expecting to see only Abigail and not his girls, given the late hour. But the girls raced in, and Royce started to smile, happy to see them. But as he took in their dirty, disheveled appearances, he frowned.

“Where the devil is Abigail?” he asked, motioning for Lenora and Lillith to come closer. They stood oddly unmoving at the door clutching each other. He had an uncanny instinct for spotting trouble, which had served him well many a times, and now the blood rushed through his veins at the feeling. He rose. “Girls? What have ye done?”

“It was Lenora’s idea!” Lillith burst out, and then she promptly broke into tears and began to wail.

“I did nae mean for her to be taken!” Lenora cried out and also burst into sobs.

Taken?Royce’s blood ran from hot to cold. He moved across the room and kneeled before his daughters, and as he did so, he noted the rips in their gowns and the mud stains, as well as splotches of blood. His gaze immediately tracked over each girl’s body, checking for injuries, and when he saw no more than a surface cut on each girl, he let out a pent-up breath. “Tell me what happened and be quick about it.”

The girls looked at each other, both biting their lips, but Lenora spoke between hiccupping sobs. “We wanted to go to the Fairy Pools to get the wine so ye could make Abigail drink it, and then ye’d see she is nae the woman for ye.”

“The Fairy Pools!” He stood with a jerk, his hand coming protectively to his daughters’ heads.

God’s blood! The Fairy Pools were safe normally, though they were well out of the bounds of the area he kept heavily guarded. But these were not normal times. Elena, with all her broken betrothals, had garnered them many enemies. MacNeil’s words from a month earlier ran through Royce’s head: This is war.

He was but one of the many enemies, yet he was likely the angriest.

“Is it MacNeil who has her?” he asked the girls, knowing the answer by their suddenly wide eyes before Lenora ever confirmed it with a nod. Lenora broke out into fresh sobs, as did Lillith. “Give me the details,” he said, gentling his tone. He was vexed with the girls for their part in putting themselves, as well as Abigail, in danger, but he couldn’t discount his own part. He distinctly recalled Abigail trying to tell him where they were going and he’d stopped her, wanting her to leave him because of his own selfish discomfort.

“He kn-knocked her off her horse,” Lillith managed. “And sh-she told us to flee and get help instead of asking us to h-help her. We did nae know what to do. And a man with MacNeil started chasing us so we fled.”

“He’ll be gone with her now,” Lenora cried, “and ’tis our fault. We only wanted her to go away. We did nae want her to be taken by the MacNeil.”

As Lenora spit out the sentence, Magnus walked back into the room, eyes widening at the sight of the girls. “What’s happened?” Magnus asked.

But Royce was already moving past Magnus, his mind considering the best way to catch up with the man before he crossed into MacNeil territory. They’d have to ride straight through the night and take the Pass of Death, which led across rocky terrain where the land fell away on either side to the sea below. One slip of the horse and they’d be dead, but Abigail’s predicament was his fault, as well as his daughters.

He paused at the door and turned toward the room, his gaze finding Brus’s. “Light the torches along the ramparts.”

Brus nodded. “Nae sound the war horn?”

“Nae yet,” Royce answered. “Just put the guards on high alert, and set a guard outside the girls’ bedchamber.”

“I’ll watch them myself,” Brus said. When Royce opened his mouth to add another guard with his brother, Brus said, “Trust me, Brother. I will guard them with my life. I vow this to ye.” Royce nodded, feeling instinctively that his brother would do as he said.

“Magnus and Thor—”

“Aye,” Magnus interrupted, moving toward the door. “I’m already behind ye.”

Magnus was the best tracker in the land, and Thor, being a renowned swordsman, could be needed. How long had MacNeil been lurking, planning to strike? Had he left and returned? He had obviously been watching the castle, waiting for someone to venture far enough that they were out of the view of the guards. Royce clenched his jaw at his distraction, which had also contributed to Abigail’s current predicament.

He gazed at his daughters, not wanting to berate them overly much given the state they were in but knowing they had to understand what their actions had caused. “I’ll deal with the two of ye when I return. Say yer prayers that Abigail is nae killed or worse.” Because there were far worse things than death that could happen to a woman. Things that made a woman wish for death. He’d seen women defiled in the worst sort of way when captured by enemies, and the empty looks in their eyes, as if someone had reached inside them and ripped out their souls, was the thing of haunting dreams.

Eve awoke with a start to the sound of men’s voices coming from her left and the stars twinkling above her. She stifled a groan as she turned her pounding head toward the voices. In the distance, near a cluster of trees, she could make out three shadows. She had no doubt it was MacNeil and his men. Panic rioted within her as she looked around. Where was she? If she didn’t know where she was, how would she know which direction to run? She had to flee and soon.

She scanned the moonlight-bathed terrain in search of something that looked familiar as she tested her limbs to ensure she was physically stable. The last thing she recalled was MacNeil hitting her and her screaming at the girls to flee. How long had she been out?

Immediately after that question came the terrifying thought that perhaps the girls had not escaped. Her lungs felt suddenly unable to properly fill, and she glanced around her, the movement making the pain in her head worse. She didn’t see the girls, and if she didn’t see them, then hopefully they had gotten away. Her gaze darted back to shadows of the men, who seemed to be facing each other and speaking. She had to flee now while they were preoccupied, but which way did she need to run?

She swept her gaze over rocks and trees, her heartbeat increasing with each pass. She didn’t know. She simply didn’t know.

Her throat ached with the need to cry, and her stomach hollowed. No. She would not cry. She would not panic. She swallowed and swallowed, desperate to keep her emotions in check. Ever so slowly, with her attention on the men to her left, she rose to her feet, the cold wind whipping her face, and she glanced around once more, searching the skyline for the way to run. Nothing. She scanned the area again, her heartbeat speeding up, gooseflesh sweeping her skin, and her breath becoming ragged. She dug her nails into her palms as fear hammered her, and then she stopped, squinted her eyes, and nearly cried out. To the east, reaching to the sky were sharp pinnacles of rock.

There. That was the way to run. Her heart leaped, and she turned. But as she did so, a man called out, “Where the devil do ye think ye’re going, lass?”

She didn’t hesitate. She bolted away from MacNeil, away from the clearing and toward the sharp rocks in the far distance. But behind her, shouting commenced. They were giving chase. She scrambled over rocks, cutting her hands in her haste, falling and rising, falling and rising. Her knees burned, her palms stung, and the thud of footsteps joined the men’s shouts.

She shoved branches out of her way as she ran, and some simply smacked her face, her arms, her legs. Her lungs tightened, her side pinched, and still she ran over gnarled roots, and through sticker bushes, up the mountain and through the icy stream. Terror hastened her steps and drove her, even as throbbing in the soles of her feet joined that of her head. Her legs burned and ached, but she pushed forward up the hill, then down a winding path. The voices grew nearer, the footsteps louder. She ran through the water with the stones, the same area she had gone through earlier with the twins, and the cold once more made her hiss. It drenched her skirts, slowing her, but she kept going, praying she’d reach the cave with the seer. Dunvegan was unreachable. Royce was too far to help her now.

She saw the trees in the distance that she’d thought so perfectly formed when she’d first spotted them earlier in the day, and just as hope rose, her toe caught a root and she pitched forward, face-first, landing on her stomach and hitting her head so hard that bright specks of light danced in her vision. She couldn’t move for a moment, and when hands grabbed her from behind, she knew it had been a moment too long.

Soon, Royce, Magnus, and Thor were on their horses and riding hard through the night. They raced across the grassy hills, the cold wind cutting into Royce, and then they left the easy terrain for the rocky, dangerous one. He steered his destrier toward the Path of Death that would cut the journey to MacNeil land in half. If they were lucky, they’d reach the MacNeil border before MacNeil himself, and they could lie in wait to ambush the man before he entered his own, heavily guarded territory.

The Pass of Death was mountainous terrain, which made things easier in one sense and more difficult in another. The jutting cliffs and nooks provided places to hide, but the steep drops from the mountains meant a drop into the sea to one side or simply down to the cliffs below on the other. Either way, it was likely death if any skirmish led them close enough to the edge that they went over.

Royce’s thoughts wandered to Abigail as he slowed his horse to guide the beast over the narrow pass from one hill to the next. Admiration for her selfless deed in ordering his girls to run for safety and aid swelled in him, as well as curiosity about her. What made one woman so selfless when another, like his wife, had been so selfish? He did not normally indulge in memories of Lara, but the last conversation he’d had with her rose in his head. He’d demanded to know how she could make the choice to not honor their marriage vows when such a choice would cause their daughters so much pain and teach them that honor and faithfulness meant nothing. He’d threatened to banish her from the clan and the girls forever, but it had been a threat only. He could not forgive her, but he would have sold his soul to Satan before knowingly doing something to cause his daughters pain.

Lara had shamed and betrayed him, shown herself untrustworthy and uncaring of him, but what was worse than that, what he’d been unable to move past, what had made him know he could never forgive her, was that she’d put her desires above their daughters. She’d not spared a thought to how her betrayal would destroy their family. He thought of the nights after he’d come upon her in the throes of passion in the woods with Ewan MacPherson, who was one of many guests on MacLeod land for the annual clan tournament. She’d sworn it had only happened the one time and begged his forgiveness, but once he’d discovered her betrayal, he could neither trust her nor believe her. She’d become a stranger overnight, and yet she had remained his wife.

His thoughts turned suddenly to Abigail. She was a true stranger to him and to his girls, but she had put her own well-being at risk for the safety of his girls, had thought of them before herself, had made a choice to put them first. It was astonishing, really. His horse slipped suddenly on the rock, causing the beast to sway very near the edge that plunged to the sea. The air left Royce’s lungs and images flashed in his head—the girls, his sister, brother, parents, and Abigail—as he leaned far to the left to right the horse on the path. Once he was again safely away from the very edge, he released a ragged breath, yet the knowledge that Abigail had been one of the faces he saw the moment before, settled into his bones. Why her? He didn’t want to welcome a lass into his life again, and yet she was in his head.

As he, Thor, and Magnus began galloping once more, the memories played through his head of the days before Lara’s death. She’d asked his forgiveness, but when he’d been unable to immediately give it, she’d told him he’d driven her into Ewan’s arms. Her words rang through his head: I’d nae have ended up as Ewan’s lover had ye been there for me.

His hands clenched tightly around his reins, making blood pulse almost painfully in his fingertips. He’d been there as much as he could, hadn’t he? His duties as laird pulled him away, yes, but when he was home, he had been fully there. Still, doubt knotted in his stomach as it long had. Had he failed Lara in some way? It was that dark question, a question that he could not answer, that was partly why he’d never take a wife again, never allowed a woman in again. What if what had happened with Lara was because of him?

“Royce, look on the mountaintop,” Magnus said.

Royce blinked his thoughts away, slowed his horse to match the pace Magnus and Thor were adopting, and peered up to where Magnus was pointing. He sucked in a breath of surprise at the orange flames dancing against the dark sky at the top of the mountain. “It kinnae be MacNeil,” he murmured more to himself than either Magnus or Thor.

“If he’s a clot-heid, it could well be him,” Magnus said, “and from what I’ve seen of him, he is a fool.”

Royce moved his horse off the path and dismounted, securing the beast to a tree, and Magnus and Thor followed suit. Glancing back toward the orange glow above, he said, “Why would MacNeil only go such a short distance from the Fairy Pools? He would have to know I’d come for Abigail once the girls told me what had occurred.”

“I can think of a few reasons he’d nae have covered much distance,” Magnus said. “One is an inflated sense of his ability to defeat ye if ye come for her, or perhaps he thinks ye’d nae come for a lass ye barely know.”

“He is nae privy to how well I know her,” Royce said, moving along the rocky terrain to climb to the top of the mountain. “’Tis nae that. He either discounts that I’m a threat or something happened that delayed him.”

“Mayhap,” Thor said, coming up beside Royce to climb, “he paused to plunder the lass. Some men foolishly let lust rule their actions, despite the consequences and dangers.”

An image of MacNeil abusing Abigail popped into Royce’s head and made him want to smash something. And he would if the man had plundered the lass. Royce would smash MacNeil’s face in for such a wrongdoing.