Highland Protector (21 page)

“Eventually, aye, I suspicion I will. Doesnae everyone?”

“Ye will be doing so a lot sooner than most.” “May I ask why?”

“Ye can ask but it willnae get ye any answers. Mon who hired us didnae say why he wanted ye dead. Doesnae make no mind to me why he does. Coin was good.”

“Was he tall, fair of hair, somewhat handsome, and with an air of overweening importance?”

“Mighta been. Told ye, the who and the why dinnae matter.”

“Nay sure of that, Mac,” grumbled an extremely filthy man whose belly showed that he had too great a love for food. “He kens who hired us.”

“Weel, he would, wouldnae he,” snapped Mac. “No one wants a mon they dinnae ken murdered, do they? Ye have to ken a mon to be wanting him dead.”

“I dinna ken who ye are and I am already wanting ye dead,” spoke the tall man who stepped up beside Simon.

Simon sighed and glanced at Tormand, who probably thought he was in disguise again. His eyes could not be hidden, however, no matter how thick he grew his beard or what color berry juice he rubbed into his beard and hair. Tormand seemed to suffer Ilsabeth’s difficulty in understanding that there were just some eyes that people did not forget. Beautiful, big blue eyes and mismatched eyes were among them.

“Ye are a wee bit too close to the fire here, friend,” Simon said, and drew his sword.

“I am in disguise,” said Tormand.

“As what?” Simon spared a quick glance at Tormand’s rags. “A beggar?”

“Exactly. No one looks at beggars. So what do these fools want from ye?”

“Ye heard him. My death. I can explain it after they go away.” He looked at the men. “I suggest ye give this up. Take that fool’s money and run. Verra far away.” The men started to have a whispered conversation, although one of them always kept his gaze on Simon, so Simon looked at Tormand again. “My friend, ye can dress in any ridiculous outfit ye like and grow that beard down to your knees but any who look into your face for but one moment will ken who ye are. The eyes, ye fool. No one forgets those eyes.”

“Ah, hell’s teeth. Cannae do anything about them save for squint a lot. Nay sure I would want to do anything about them either. My Morainn is still trying to decide which one she likes better. She stares into them sometimes and tells me it is difficult to ken when they are both so beautiful.” He grinned when Simon groaned. “Heads up. They have come to a decision.”

“We think ye ought to give us some money,” said Mac. “More than the other fellow gave us. Then we can honestly tell the mon that we couldnae do as he asked because ye paid better.”

“He is a marvel, isnae he, Simon?” Tormand laughed.

After a lot of bickering and bartering, the men left, their pockets a little heavier. Tormand continued to occasionally chuckle over the matter as he and Simon made their way to a small tavern. Despite the way the tavern maid eyed Tormand with disgust, Simon was able to get them to a small table tucked far in the corner. As soon as he and Tormand each had a tankard of ale, Simon told him everything he had learned from David.

“Walter made a verra big mistake there,” said Tormand, who grinned at, then winked at, the horrified tavern maid.

Simon needed only one peek at Tormand to know what horrified the woman. “I hope whate’er ye have put on your teeth will come out.” They looked as if they were stained with something vile that was oozing from his gums.

“ ‘Tis naught but some herbal mess Morainn mixed up. It doesnae taste bad. Although, it doesnae go with this ale verra weel.” Tormand set his tankard down and looked at Simon. “So ye are truly going to stay with this until the bitter end.”

“I have to, Tormand.”

Tormand nodded. “I can see it. So could Morainn. She says all will be weel at Lochancorrie. Couldnae tell me if that was because ye took on the land or because whoever the king gifted with a traitor’s goods was a good laird, but she thought ye might like to ken that the future is nay all death and misery for your home.”

Simon thought about it for a moment and nodded. “It is good news. It takes away a worry and that can only be good at this time. Things are beginning to fall into place.”

“Morainn also said that ye will face a great trial and have to make a painful choice, or something akin to that. Mayhap it was that ye make the wrong choice and it is painful.” He shrugged when Simon glared at him. “She wasnae sure, either. Just that there will be something painful for ye when all else is right. I told her a few more specific dreams might be better but she told me to tell ye this one.”

“That is verra vague e’en for Morainn.”

“So I thought but she wouldnae tell me anything else and insisted I come and tell ye that. Good thing I did, too, or ye would have been dead on the road to the king’s court.”

“I could have beaten them.” Simon ignored the mocking sounds Tormand made. “I will think on it for a wee while and mayhap it will make more sense in time.”

“Nay so sure of that. Just why were ye headed to the court again? Now that ye are so close to capturing these traitors and all, I would have thought ye would wish to start avoiding that place again.”

“ ‘Tis hard to abide it, but I must speak to the king as soon as possible if I want any chance of saving Lochancorrie.”

“Go then. I will wait here for you. As soon as ye can, come back and tell me what ye learned and what the king said.”

Simon hesitated for only a moment and then he hurried off to get to the court. He would not stand around waiting to get in to see the king, he told himself, because there was nothing to gain from leaving Tormand wasting time at the tavern while he wasted time in an unanswered bid to see his liege lord. To Simon’s relief, and surprise, he was escorted into the presence of the king only moments after he arrived. He bowed before the man he had sworn his sword to.

“Ye have some news for us, Simon?” the king asked.

“We have captured one of the men who was dragged into the plan.” Without naming anyone, Simon told him about David, stressing the fact that David had long been caught firm by the other man’s lies.

“Weel, if that mon ye hold helps ye bring the traitors to justice before I am killed, he will be freed.”

“Thank ye, sire. There is one other thing, ere I return to the business of capturing these men.”

“Best speak now whilst I am in a good humor over seeing the end of this plot.”

“I fear one of my blood may be involved.”

“Ah, a shame, but ye dinnae need to worry that I would blame ye for the act of some kinsmon. Are ye asking to have someone else step in to end this? I would prefer that ye do it as, if men who are liked and respected are involved, your word of their guilt will be held in high esteem. And no one who kens ye would think ye had ought to do with any bad seed in your family.”

There was something in the way the king stared at him that told Simon his king had a good idea of which one of Simon’s family might be a traitor, but neither of them acknowledged the truth that lay between them. “Thank ye, my liege, but I wish to see this through to the end. What I ask is that, if I am proven right, ye might consider me for the one to take o’er the forfeited lands.”

“Of course.” He looked at his clerk, who sat at a small table at the far end of the room. “Ranald will see to that, willnae ye, Ranald.”

Ranald nodded and Simon could not believe the ease with which it was done. He knew the king could yet change his mind, but the fact that the king had already told Ranald to see to it was reason to hope that Lochancorrie could be saved. After a short while of answering the king’s questions yet not giving the man the names he wanted, Simon left and hurried back to the tavern where Tormand waited for him.

“ ‘Tis strange to see ye sitting all alone in a tavern,” Simon said as he sat down.

“I am a married mon,” said Tormand.

Simon wondered if Tormand would ever tire of saying that and somehow doubted he would. It made him envious. “And ye have oozing teeth. Why do I think that was Morainn’s idea?” He shook his head when Tormand grinned, displaying those horrific teeth.

“Weel, did ye get to see the king?”

“Aye. He was pleased to hear this is all nearing an end, but I think he started to become annoyed that I would nay give him any names until I had the leader in my hands. He did sympathize with me o’er the chance that one of my blood may be involved. In truth, I think he kens exactly who may be involved but naught was said. What he did do was say I could have the land if it was forfeit. He even told old Ranald to see to it.”

“Again–a large concern lifted.” Tormand finished his tankard of ale and stood up. “I wish to be home now. I but stayed to hear what news ye might have from the king. It will be good to have this at an end soon. Ilsabeth’s family can regain their home and Ilsabeth can join them. And ye, my friend, can return to the life ye had ere she tripped into your home with those two foundlings. Rest weel.”

“Ye, too,” Simon grumbled.

He would not have been surprised if Tormand grinned all the way home. Simon could tell by the look his friend gave him as he had spoken of life returning to normal that Tormand knew Simon did not truly want that. What Tormand could not know was that it might be all Simon could allow. Ilsabeth had a large, loving family eager to take her home. Simon had a mad brother and three missing ones plus lands that had been held under Henry’s boot heel for too long. It could be that there was no sane way to put two such disparate people together in any more than a brief affair.

Humming quietly to herself, Ilsabeth washed the floor in the entrance hall of Simon’s house. She was going to have to speak to Simon about hiring a maid to help Old Bega. Although the woman was strong and healthy, there was too much work for just one woman to do. MacBean helped but having some girl come in from town every day would make a great deal of difference. Ilsabeth resolutely silenced the voice that said she would be the one to make such decisions. Simon had given no indication that she would be.

For the moment, Ilsabeth did not mind working hard and for long hours. In truth, she welcomed it. When Simon had first captured David, she had been elated. Common sense told her she had been a fool to have thought capturing the man would put an end to her and her family’s suffering, but she had thought it anyway. Now, three long days afterward, she was more frustrated than she had been before David had been taken. Simon was not telling her much except to warn her not to speak of the fact that he held David, and that silence did nothing to help ease her frustration.

She forced herself to look at all the activity that had been going on since Simon had grabbed David right off the streets near the inn where the man had been staying. Simon’s men were in and out of the house at all hours, running in to speak to him in urgent tones and then disappearing again. And Simon worked day and night, although he still managed to find the time to make love to her, she thought, and suddenly grinned.

“Ye are happy to be working like some lowly kitchen maid, are ye?”

Ilsabeth’s good humor faded so quickly she was astonished she did not cry out at the abrupt loss. Instead, she looked up and met the hard gaze of Sir Walter Hepbourn. There were six of the king’s soldiers with him. Ilsabeth did not even think. She leapt up, kicked Walter in the knee and then fled to the back of the house.

“Get back here, ye traitorous bitch!”

One quick glance behind her showed Walter signaling to the soldiers to go after her, and then limping along behind them. When Ilsabeth reached the door to the garden she thought she had made good her escape. She was not sure where she would go, but Simon’s house was no longer safe for her. Yanking open the door, she took one step into the garden only to see two of the king’s soldiers running into the garden through the gate. She turned to go back into the house, thinking there might be a place to hide, but one look inside told her that there was no safety to be found there. Old Bega and MacBean were trying to hold the soldiers back with a broom and a spade and she feared they would get themselves killed.

A hand closing tightly around her arm reminded Ilsabeth that not all the king’s soldiers were in the kitchen. She turned so quickly the man had no time to defend himself against the punch she aimed at his nose. Ilsabeth cursed almost as vehemently as the soldier did when her fist connected with his long nose. Her hand hurt so badly she was not sure if that cracking noise she had heard as her fist struck the man was her fist or his nose breaking.

“Run, Ilsabeth!” yelled Reid as he leapt onto the back of the second soldier and began to pound on the man’s head with both of his small fists while Elen skipped around kicking the man in the legs. The soldier she had struck held on to his bleeding nose and moaned. “Run!” Reid yelled again. “Ye can get to the gate now.”

To use two children to help shield herself felt wrong but Ilsabeth knew she could not risk being taken prisoner. It was clear to see that the soldiers that Walter had chosen were the kind of men who could not bring themselves to hurt their elders or children for none of her stalwart defenders were hurt yet they were not being so gentle with the soldiers. On the other hand, those same soldiers were trying to drag her away to be imprisoned and then tried, convicted, and executed. Ilsabeth knew she had no choices left. Simon would have to clean up the mess she left behind. That would be far easier for him to do than getting her free of the king’s soldiers and dungeons. She turned and ran for the gate.

“Stop, Ilsabeth!” yelled Walter. “Ye have no say o’er me.” She reached out for the latch on the garden gate. “Oh, aye, I believe I do.”

The icy smugness of his tone sent an abrupt chill of alarm down Ilsabeth’s spine. Walter sounded very smug indeed and that was never a good thing. She also noticed that everyone else had gone very quiet. It was possible the quiet was just everyone waiting to see if she would obey Walter, but she doubted it. He had some plan he felt certain would bring her to willingly walk into his grasp. Ilsabeth looked down at her hand on the gate latch and then sighed, turning to look back at Walter.

Her heart leapt up into her throat so quickly she nearly gagged. A smiling Walter held a wide-eyed Elen with one arm curled around her middle. In his free hand was a very large, very sharp knife. It was pressed against the child’s throat. Ilsabeth was terrified. Elen was too young to understand the need to keep as still as she could. At any moment Elen could begin to squirm and easily end up with her throat cut.