Chapter 5
“Wine!” Lord Drummond bellowed as he entered the solar.
Old Normina shuffled forward with a horn and a wineskin of the best vintage to be found in the laird’s cellars. She’d anticipated he’d demand more than mead this night after chasing all over creation for his lost bride. Without a word of thanks, the laird knocked back the horn in one long swallow and held it out for Normina to refill.
Not that she expected thanks. A laird couldn’t be bothered to notice the likes of her. It was enough to have a roof over her head, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep. At her age, she was grateful for small comforts.
Lord Stewart followed him into the comfortable, tapestry-bedecked room. He pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his heavy cloak, and glowered at his would-be son-in-law. Without being told to do so, Normina scurried over to offer him a drink.
The Drummond didn’t suffer servants who couldn’t correctly divine his needs or the needs of his guests.
Then Normina took her place in the corner and propped herself on a little straight-backed chair. That way, she’d be ready if called upon, and out of the way and of no more consequence than the boar hound lolling before the fire, if she was not.
“Well?” Lord Stewart said, his fists bunched at his sides. “Are you going to try to tell me this isn’t about that sorry business from two years ago?”
“Who knows with a madman?” the laird said.
Lady Stewart appeared in the doorway, her eyes red rimmed from a long day of praying and weeping. She ran to her husband. “Tell me you found her, Alistair.”
“Not yet, love,” Lord Stewart whispered and took her into his arms to comfort her.
Normina didn’t move to offer Lady Stewart wine. She’d not taken a bit of nourishment all day, though Normina had tried to tempt her with a number of dainty morsels. After her laird’s disappointing news, the lady wasn’t likely to change her mind now.
“But you will,” she pleaded, her face pressed against his chest. “Promise me you will.”
“Aye, we’ll start again at first light. Lachlan thinks he knows where he lost them, and we’ll begin there to pick up the trail. We’ll find her, Morag.” Lord Stewart patted her hair, bound in a snood, and then pulled her away from him. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Now, to bed with you, and let us men worry about our plans.”
“She’s my bairn, Alistair,” Lady Stewart said as she backed out of the room, her hands covering her face, her shoulders slumped. “My last, rosy-cheeked bairn.”
Lord Stewart watched his wife leave, his mouth in a grim line.
“Dinna have children late in life, if ye can help it, Lachlan. Mothers get overly attached to that last little hatchling.” Alistair Stewart swiped his eyes and coughed to cover an unmanly sniffle. “’Struth! Fathers do too. If it’s a lass especially.”
Normina had birthed five bairns, two lads and three lasses, and nary a one lived long enough to see ten summers. Her husband was gone now too, but that was the lot of all flesh. The cradle swings above a grave, and beds are empty at the last.
But how lovely it would have been to have had a daughter to comfort her last years. Someone to bring her a cup of willow-bark tea when her old bones ached or to give her grandchildren to dandle on her knees.
“Drummond, you know I want to believe your version of the tale, but MacLaren has naught against me or my house.” Lord Stewart slumped into one of the leather chairs by the fire. “Why else would he do this if not for revenge against you?”
“I swear on all that’s holy, I never intended hurt to MacLaren’s wife.”
Whenever Lord Drummond raised his hand to pledge to God, Normina cringed a little. A body never knew when the Almighty might smite a blasphemer, and she didn’t want to be near when it happened.
“It was Christmastide, and spirits are always high then. I’ll admit too much mead had somewhat to do with it,” Drummond went on. “But it was meant as a harmless prank. Have ye never been part of a bride snatching?”
“Other than this one, ye mean?” Stewart said, his tone low and graveled with anger.
“’Twas nothing like this. I never unsheathed a blade. Never desecrated a kirk. ’Twas all in good fun,” Drummond said, striding with nervous energy from one end of the solar to the other. “We caught the lady outside the walls of Caisteal Dubh and thought only to make some sport of her husband. That’s all. I swear it.”
Normina remembered Lady MacLaren. A kind young woman. Terrified, of course. Who wouldn’t be if they were being held against their will? But well spoken, all the same. And clean. She was no trouble to look after at all.
Pity she was here for such a short time.
“God’s feet! I was a friend to Rob MacLaren’s father all his life. And he knows it,” Lord Drummond said. “I’d broken bread in that castle hundreds of times before the old laird passed.”
“And yet he bears ye ill will.”
“We’d have returned her unharmed. She was in the tower for her own safety.” Lord Drummond’s black eyes snapped. “If I’d had any notion that fool of a woman would leap from the window, I’d never have locked her away in there. Believe me, Stewart, it was a tragic misunderstanding, the kind of thing they sing about in ballads.”
Normina jerked her gaze away from her master lest he meet her eyes and know her secret thoughts. She had no misunderstanding about what happened to Lady MacLaren. Anybody with ears could’ve heard her piteous cries while Lord Drummond was with her in that locked chamber.
There was only one reason a woman might leap from a tower window. Her spirit had already taken flight, and her body needed to catch up with it.
“I’d not be surprised if some bard hasn’t already composed an outlandish version of the tale,” Drummond said.
Normina kept her eyes carefully downcast. It wasn’t her place to question her laird or to judge her betters, no matter how awful his sins.
It was God’s place to do that. It seemed the Almighty took His time when it came to the nobility, but He always got round to such things eventually.
Normina hopped up to refill her laird’s drinking horn and hoped she’d be there to see it when God finally demanded a reckoning from Lachlan Drummond.
From a safe distance, of course.
***
Falin whickered and tossed his head as they plodded through the forest. Elspeth didn’t blame him for skittishness. She loved to ride in the woods by day near her home. But by night, in this wood, every stump grew a boggle’s face, and the trees’ naked branches stabbed the sky like bony witches’ fingers.
Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she turned her head to see several dark shapes keeping pace with them. Her breath hissed over her teeth.
“Aye, we’ve attracted the notice of a wolf pack,” Rob said softly. “Pay them no mind.”
Several pairs of feral eyes flashed at her from the deeper darkness.
She jerked her gaze away and fastened it on Falin’s bobbing head. The stallion’s ears pricked forward. His nostrils quivered. Then he whinnied and picked up his pace without Rob’s direction.
“No, my brave heart, we’ll not show them your heels,” Rob crooned to the stallion as he reined him back. “There’s a good lad. There’ll be no running.”
If the horse panicked and bolted, Elspeth and Rob would likely be sheared off his back by a low-hanging branch. And a man or woman afoot before a wolf pack had very little hope.
The wolves began calling to each other in short yips and howls.
Rob unwrapped the plaid that snugged Elspeth against him. “Can ye reach my boot knife? ’Tis on the right side.”
Elspeth leaned down to fetch it and saw a big gray fellow dart closer, matching their speed.
He slipped through the trees like a wraith on silent paws, his long tongue lolling. His teeth flashed in the stippled moonlight. Even in this dimness, Elspeth could see the wolf’s ribs protruding from his shaggy coat.
“They’re starving,” she said.
“Aye, most all the cattle and sheep in the Highlands have been sold off to the Lowlands for the winter,” he said woodenly. “Like as not, this pack’s not seen a meal for some time.”
She felt for the knife in Rob’s boot and drew it out, careful not to let the haft slip from her fingers.
“I’ve got it,” she whispered.
“Cut the rope that binds ye to me,” Rob said calmly, then his tone turned harsh with disgust. “Ach, I should have remembered there were wolves in these woods during these months.”
“If ye hadn’t stolen a man’s bride, ye’d have no need to remember such a thing.”
“Ye’ll be sure to let me know if always being right ever begins to pall, won’t ye?” he said as they continued to trudge along. “Tell me, lass, when ye were a little girl, were ye the sort to play outside, or did ye sit by the fire and spin all day?”
Elspeth’s eyes widened as she sawed through the rope at her waist. Didn’t the man realize what was happening?
“What on earth does that have to do with our current predicament?”
“I was just wondering if ye’ve ever climbed a tree, because I think the skill might come in handy verra soon.”
“Oh, aye.” Perhaps Rob wasn’t so mad after all. “I can climb a tree like a squirrel.”
Elspeth heard the metallic rasp of metal as Rob unsheathed his claymore.
“There’s an oak overhanging the path in ten paces,” he said. “If I give ye a boost, do ye think ye can swing up to that thick branch?”
The wolves began a howling chorus around them. They’d located the only fresh meat in the forest, and it was time to sing about it.
“Give me a boost, and I’ll fly up to it,” Elspeth said, drawing her legs up under her so she was hunkered on Falin’s back instead of sitting astride. He danced sideways as he felt the unusual movement of his riders.
“Ho there, lad, easy now.” Rob kneed Falin forward.
One of the wolves found some bravery and lunged at Falin’s haunches. The stallion kicked at it. Rob kept Elspeth from toppling off by balancing her hip with one hand.
The predator rolled and slinked away, snarling but unhurt.
“Do ye want the knife?” Elspeth asked.
“No, keep it,” he said. “Just in case.”
In case. Elspeth didn’t want to contemplate what that meant. As they drew near the oak tree, she slid the small blade down the busk of her bodice, between the boning.
“Get ready.” Rob’s voice was steady and reassuring, but her heart still pounded like a smith’s hammer.
She pushed the cloak off her shoulders, letting it drape over the stallion’s withers, so her arms would be free. Cold was the least of her worries.
She’d have only one chance to leap to safety.
They drew even with the oak.
“Now!” Rob shouted.
He hefted her backside, and she sprang up and grabbed at the branch with both hands. The rough bark dug into her palms, but she didn’t let go.
The sudden movement made the pack dart in, snapping at Falin’s heels. He bucked and reared and danced backward on the path.
Elspeth was suspended over nothing but air, with writhing, furry bodies below. She swung her feet up to hook a knee over the branch, but not before the biggest gray wolf leaped up and grabbed a mouthful of her broad skirt. A lesser fabric might have ripped, but the thick velvet held fast.
Elspeth clung to the underside of the branch, which bowed under the additional weight. The wolf shook its whole body, like a terrier with a rat, trying to bring her down.
The bough creaked and popped, and she feared the limb might give way.
“Hang on!” Rob shouted and slashed, not at the wolf, but at the layers of her velvet skirt and chemise from which it was suspended. The beast fell to the ground with a yowl.
Elspeth scrambled and lifted herself to the upper side of the thick branch.
Another wolf leaped up, coming within finger-widths of her bare foot. She tucked it up and scuttled along the branch till she reached the trunk and stood upright, looping an arm around its comforting solidness.
One wolf continued to lunge and tried to scuffle up the trunk. Elspeth caught a whiff of his stinking breath as he snapped at her, but unless he sprouted wings, she was out of reach.
“Whatever happens, dinna come down till I say,” Rob ordered as the pack turned its attention from her to the man on the prime piece of horseflesh.
The wolves formed a ring of snarling muzzles around Rob and Falin. Their breath rose in a haze, like a smoke ring from a giant’s pipe. Elspeth counted fifteen big beasts with several smaller ones hanging back in the deeper shadows, yipping encouragement.
Rob pivoted the snorting stallion in a tight circle, so he could keep an eye on the restive crowd. The wolves called to one another, coordinating their coming attack. The sound raked Elspeth’s spine like a claw. The unholy chorus rose and then stopped suddenly, as if the song was a thread snipped off with shears.
“Come, ye sons of bitches!” Rob growled into the sudden silence. “If ye want us, ye must take us. I give ye worm-eaten bastards leave to try!”
Elspeth had seen fearsome things in the hall of dreams. The Sight had sometimes taken her repeatedly to the aftermath of a great battle of some sort, and she woke from such bloody visions sickened to her soul. But she’d never seen anything as terrifying as the sudden attacking leap of the wolves on this man and his horse.
They came in waves, snarling and snapping. One managed to land on the stallion’s back behind Rob, going for his unprotected neck. Falin screamed and reared, lashing out with his hooves, and the wolf slid off, raking the stallion’s flanks with his claws. Rob’s blade sang a song of blood and whipped around to shear off the beast’s head.
Falin’s kicks sent a few wolves flying as Rob laid about with his claymore. Man and horse, they fought in concert. They fought for their lives.
As the battle wore on, Falin stumbled on fallen wolf carcasses but managed to keep his feet. The ground was black with blood. Rob roared as he slashed his blade, sounding as wild and vicious as any four-legged predator.
The numbers of the pack dwindled. As the eastern sky lightened to pearl gray, hope rose in Elspeth’s heart.
Then the largest wolf charged and leaped. His flying lunge knocked Rob from Falin’s back. They rolled together, tooth and claw, man and blade, off the path and into the thick underbrush, disappearing in a growling, swearing mass.