Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (19 page)

“Care to
elaborate?”

He chortled in
amusement, but held up a hand for peace when she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I have an older
brother, Robert, and a younger brother, Daniel. We are all close in age, about
a year apart each, which made for a…lively boyhood.”

“What did Burke
mean when he mentioned the Laird of the Sinclair clan?”

“Robert is the
Laird. He was the one who sent Burke and me to gather information around
Dunbraes—with the Bruce’s blessing, of course.”

Garrick didn’t
often talk about the fact that his brother was a Laird. He didn’t want the
other soldiers in the rebel camp to think that he had risen in the Bruce’s
ranks because of nepotism. But he was nevertheless proud of his heritage as the
descendant and brother of the Laird of a Highland clan. It was perhaps part of
the reason he felt so strongly about being a part of Scotland’s fight for
independence—he wanted his clan to choose their own destiny and live freely.

“And what about
this ‘Lady Alwin’? What kind of name is that?”

Garrick tried to
suppress a smile. Was that a hint of suspicion—or even jealousy—in Jossalyn’s
voice? Of course, he had told her next to nothing of his life or his family, so
he shouldn’t hold it against her that she would feel uncomfortable at the
mention of a lady who lived back at his home in Roslin.

“She is my
brother’s wife.” He sensed the slightest shift from her in front of him as she
relaxed a hair’s breadth. Then a thought occurred to him. “She’s English, like
you.” Somehow his brother and Alwin seemed to make it work, despite their
differences in nationality. But there was more to it than that, and suddenly he
felt uncomfortable with the next piece of information, unsure of how Jossalyn
would react to it.

“In fact, she was
betrothed to someone else before she married Robert. She was engaged to be
married…to your brother.”

She inhaled
sharply and twisted around in the saddle again, pinning him with her green
eyes, which were wide with shock. “I had heard rumors, but I never knew….Then
she would have been…my sister?” Several emotions flitted across her face. Garrick
was only able to pick out surprise, sadness, hope, and confusion from the
bunch.

“What sort of
woman is she? Is she kind? Does she love your brother? Why didn’t she marry my
brother?”

“Hold on, lass,
one at a time! I’ve only met her once, but I can tell you everything I know.”

She took a
steadying breath and gave a little nod, turning back around in the saddle to
face forward so that she could listen more comfortably.

“The circumstances
under which Robert and Alwin came to be married rather than Alwin and your
brother are…unusual,” he began. Though bride-stealing and the dissolution of
political unions in favor of love matches wasn’t entirely uncommon in the
Highlands, he wasn’t sure how she would take it, given her English
sensibilities.

“Alwin was on her
way to meet your brother, when Robert…intercepted her and took her for ransom. Your
brother gave chase but wasn’t able to take her back. Robert had them wed, and
now they are expecting their first child.”

“So they are
happy?”

Garrick could
remember very distinctly how his brother had looked at Lady Alwin, how he doted
on her and didn’t seem to mind Garrick’s teasing about what a moon-eyed whelp
he was being.
Someday you’ll understand
. Robert’s words floated back to
him. Perhaps he was coming to comprehend his brother’s behavior.

“Aye, very much
so. Though it was an unusual union to begin with, they are made for each other.
She’s as strong and smart as a whip, and he’s become a better Laird for it.”

She exhaled and
slumped slightly in the saddle.

“What is it,
lass?” he said, suddenly confused by her reaction.

“I’m happy for
them, really,” she said, her voice sounding pinched. “In fact, I thank God she
didn’t have to marry my brother. Who knows what would have happened to her.” She
shivered uncontrollably, but then went on.

“It’s just…I
didn’t know for sure until you just mentioned it, but I could have had a
sister. I know it’s silly, since I never had her in the first place, but now it
feels as though I’ve lost her.”

Unbidden, a
thought struck Garrick’s mind like lightening. Jossalyn could still have Alwin
as a sister—if he were to marry her. He shook himself a little, trying to get
control of his thoughts. But despite his best efforts, the idea of bringing
Jossalyn into his family tapped into something deep inside him.

“Maybe someday
you’ll get to meet her,” he said, trying to ease her sadness.

“Yes, perhaps,”
she said, her voice slightly less strained. She gave herself a little shake,
then switched topics. “What of your younger brother—Daniel, you said?”

“I haven’t seen
Danny in several years,” he replied with a rueful smile. Despite the fact that
his younger brother was the smallest and weakest of them growing up, he always
fought the hardest, and sometimes even bested his older brothers. Though
Garrick hadn’t gotten to see him in quite some time, his younger brother had
already turned into a skilled warrior and powerful leader.

“He is helping our
uncle William run his keep until William’s son can take over. We were all
trained to be Lairds, in case something happened to Robert. Danny—Daniel—took
to it far better than I did. Perhaps someday he’ll get the opportunity to lead.
Not the Sinclairs, of course,” he said quickly, sending up a prayer for
Robert’s good health and long reign. “But any other clan or holding would be
lucky to have him.”

She chewed on his
words silently for a while, and the quiet of the woods stretched between them
peacefully. But Jossalyn apparently had one more line of questioning to put to
him.

“You mentioned
that you would tell Robert the Bruce about Burke’s actions. Do you truly have
the Bruce’s ear? I mean, I know that he is your commander, but you know him
personally?”

This line of inquiry
was a bit harder for him to answer. He still hadn’t told Jossalyn the full
extent of his work regarding his close relationship with the Bruce. He wasn’t
sure how she would react to learning that he wasn’t just some soldier in the
rebellion’s army—he was one of the Bruce’s most trusted and important advisors
and marksmen. Garrick was the one the Bruce entrusted with the most dangerous,
secretive, and internal missions and information. He wasn’t just some bowman—he
was known as the
best
shot, and a close confidante of the man leading
Scotland toward freedom.

Just as he was
about to open his mouth and fumble for an answer, Garrick noticed that the
forest around them had suddenly gone quiet. It had been peaceful before, but
now he couldn’t hear a single bird chirping or fluttering in the trees. He felt
his stomach twist.

Something was very
wrong.

Jossalyn was
waiting patiently for an answer from Garrick, but he was slow with his words. She
didn’t mind that trait at all—in fact, she liked that he thought about what he
wanted to say, then said it in a plain way. But her curiosity was getting the
better of her, and she was growing impatient.

Suddenly, he
pulled up hard on Fletch’s reins, his body tense behind her.

“What is—”

Before she could
get her question out, his hand clamped down over her mouth, silencing her. He
leaned in very close to her ear.

“Shhh.”

She nodded her
understanding, and his hand eased away from her mouth. He slipped quickly and
quietly from Fletch’s back, but left her perched atop the large warhorse. Then
he reached into his saddlebags and withdrew his bow and quiver, smoothly
nocking an arrow and half-drawing it.

“Show yourselves,
lads, or get an arrow apiece in the throat for your trouble,” he said loudly
into the woods.

She jerked this
way and that, suddenly flooded with terror at the prospect of some unseen and
unheard villain lurking nearby—or surrounding them.

Abruptly, a
whistle pierced the air off to their left. Like lightening, Garrick swung his
bow toward the whistle, drawing the bowstring all the way back to his cheek. But
instead of letting the arrow fly, he sent another whistle of his own back, all
the while keeping the arrow trained on a clump of dense trees and shrubs a
little way off.

The shrubs rustled
slightly, and from them emerged, to Jossalyn’s horror, a fierce-looking, kilted
warrior. He had a large sword strapped to his hip, and though he was still some
distance off, she could tell that he was a giant of a man, both tall and broad.

Garrick kept the
tip of his arrow trained on the man, but suddenly, a rustle from behind them
sounded, and he jerked his bow toward the new noise. Another large warrior in a
different colored plaid emerged from the branches of a densely foliated tree. He
swung down from a tree limb and landed with a thump on the forest floor.

As if from a
nightmare, a third man appeared in front of them, his sheathed sword swinging
at his hip as he walked slowly toward them. Jossalyn felt a scream rising in
her throat. Even though she knew that Garrick was an excellent shot, it was
three against one, and these savage-looking men appeared battle-hardened and
deadly.

The sound of
Garrick’s laugh snuffed out her terror like a bucket of water over a fire. The
sound startled her, for she had never heard him fully laugh before—he would
chuckle, or snort, but never all-out laugh. That is, until they were surrounded
by Scottish warriors looking murderous.

To her shock, the
other men moving in on them also broke out into hearty laughter.

“Garrick! Garrick
Sinclair! We were expecting to see that sorry, red-plaided arse of yours a week
ago! What took you so long?” bellowed the giant who had revealed himself first.
Garrick finally lowered his arrow and released the tension on the bowstring. He
replaced the arrow inside his quiver and slung the quiver, along with his bow,
over one shoulder.

“Sorry to keep you
waiting, Angus,” Garrick said lightly. When the giant had reached Garrick, he
thumped him heartily on the back, a blow which should have sent Garrick flying,
but he braced himself for it.

“Apologies for the
welcoming party,” the man approaching from behind said with a boyish grin.
“Can’t be too careful these days.”

“I was expecting
to ride several more hours before reaching camp,” Garrick replied, turning to
grasp forearms with the sandy-haired young man who had just spoken.

“We moved,” the
third man said tersely as he halted in front of Fletch. Garrick only exchanged
quick nods with this man, whose dark eyes continually darted between Garrick
and Jossalyn.

Apparently he
wasn’t the only one who had noticed her.

“And who is this
radiant vision of a lass with you?” the one called Angus said in a hushed tone.
He was gazing up at her with wide eyes, and for some reason, Jossalyn had to
suppress a giggle rising in her chest. No one as fierce-looking as the giant
warrior in front of her should attempt gallantry or genteel manners. It was too
incongruous.

“This is Lady
Jossalyn—” Garrick cut off abruptly before saying her last name. She also
noticed that he had spoken for her, and wondered if he didn’t want these men to
know that she was English. Well, she wasn’t going to stay silent forever, so
she might as well get it over with.

“I am Jossalyn
Warren,” she said in the most serene voice she could muster.

All of the
warriors’ eyes widened, and the sandy-haired one who had come up behind them
sputtered into a coughing fit. The dark one who had approached from the front, and
who had been looking at her suspiciously, narrowed his eyes slightly.

“As in,
Raef
Warren
?” he said as he continued to hold her with his narrowed gaze.

“He is my
brother,” she said simply, trying not to crack under his scrutiny.

“You captured Raef
Warren’s sister? Good on you, laddie!” Angus bellowed, clapping Garrick on the
back again. This time, though, Garrick wasn’t prepared for it, and the blow
sent him stumbling forward a step. “What’s the plan, then? Ransom? I heard that
that didn’t work out so well for your brother, so I’d suggest—”

“Hold, Angus!”
Garrick said firmly. “She is not my captive, and I do not plan to ransom her
back to her brother.”

Angus furrowed his
bushy, reddish-brown eyebrows at that. “Then why did you drag a wee English
lassie with you all the way to the Bru—”

“Stop your
chattering, Angus, before you say something foolish,” the dark-haired man
glaring at Jossalyn hissed.

“It’s all right,
Finn,” Garrick said. “She is loyal to the cause and wants to join us.”

The man Garrick
had just called Finn shifted his narrowed stare from Jossalyn to Garrick. “Just
because you rut with a lass doesn’t mean that she’s trustwor—”

Before he could
finish his insult, Garrick drew the dagger that he always kept in the top of
his boot and closed the distance between them in a flash. He pressed the point
of the blade into the little hollow at the base of the other man’s neck
lightly. Amazingly, Finn didn’t even flinch.

“Disrespect her again
and I’ll kill you,” Garrick said quietly. Finn only stared back silently, his
unreadable dark eyes boring into Garrick.

“Easy, lads,” the fair-haired
man said cautiously. “We’re all on the same side, remember?” The group remained
tense as Garrick slowly pulled his dagger back from Finn’s throat and
resheathed it in his boot.

“I’m sure you will
be most welcome back at camp,” the young man went on, turning to Jossalyn with
a forcibly light tone to his voice. “I am Colin McKay, at your service, my
lady. That brut is Angus MacLeod, and the one who forgot his manners is Finn
Sutherland.” He swept a bow at her, and she was suddenly reminded of Burke’s
smooth gallantry. “But if I may ask, what is a fair English lady such as
yourself doing getting involved with Garrick Sinclair and the rebellion?”

She hadn’t thought
about how she might explain their circumstances or her desire to join the
Scottish fight for freedom to others yet. She hesitated for a moment, but then
decided that there was no point in dipping her toe in cautiously. She might as
well jump all the way in.

“I was trying to
escape my brother, so I stowed away with Garrick and his cousin Burke while
they were scouting Dunbraes. The long and the short of it is that we all ended
up fleeing my brother, and I managed to convince Garrick to let me join him on
his way to Robert the Bruce’s secret camp. I am a healer, and I want to offer
my skills to your cause.”

Colin whistled
softly, his sandy eyebrows arching above his bright blue eyes. “That’s quite
the adventure, lass. But if one of the most suspicious and unwelcoming men in
all the Highlands trusts you, then I’m sure we can too.” He clapped Garrick on
the back playfully as he spoke, but also shot a meaningful look at Finn as well.

Angus, apparently
missing the laden exchange, rumbled his approval at Colin’s words. “Let’s be on
our way, then!” the ruddy giant said merrily.

Finn didn’t say
anything, but even without looking at him, she could feel his dark eyes on her
again.

Garrick mounted
behind Jossalyn but kept the horse at a walk so as to keep pace with the three
warriors striding at their side. Jossalyn had to keep reminding herself that
these men were apparently friends—or at least allies—and not enemies.

She could suddenly
understand Garrick better now that she saw him surrounded by other Highland
warriors. It explained a lot of his gruffness, his hardened exterior, and his
honed fighting skills. Nothing about these men was soft.

Then again, she
suspected that once she got to know them better, Angus would prove
tender-hearted, and she sensed Colin was a mischievous and people-loving sort. Finn,
however, didn’t strike her as anything but cold and hard.

Despite being in
the company of his fellow soldiers, Garrick seemed slightly more on edge that
normal as well. He kept one hand on the reins, but he wrapped the other protectively
around Jossalyn’s middle, holding her close to his chest. The tension she felt
from Garrick, plus her own nervousness, both in the company of strange warriors
and in anticipation of reaching the Bruce’s camp, made time stretch. How much
farther could this camp really be?

It was likely only
an hour or so after they had encountered the three warriors that she got her
answer. At another indiscernibly different point in the forest through which they
were walking, Colin sent out a loud whistle, which was immediately called back
by some unseen watcher in the surrounding trees. Then the woods thinned
slightly, and Jossalyn caught a glimpse of canvas between the trees ahead.

As they kept
moving forward, she saw more and more splashes of off-white canvas. They were
tents, set up in the open spaces between the pine trees. She also saw movement
between the trees and the tents.

At first her eyes
registered dozens of men, all clad in different colored plaids, many with
fearsome weapons strapped to their hips, backs, or over their shoulders. But
once they were moving among the tents, she realized that there must be hundreds
of men here. Those who noticed them nodded or waved, and many seemed to know
Garrick by sight. They would call a greeting to him or welcome him back, often
sending curious looks in her direction.

The deeper they
went into the sea of tents and men, the more Jossalyn was struck by the scale
of it all. This wasn’t merely some thrown-together camp—this was a mobile
village. Off to one side she saw several pens filled with livestock, and behind
them a row of carts and wagons, presumably to be able to transport all these
tents and gear for the men quickly if the need arose.

But how could such
a large and well-run operation stay secret and hidden for so long? The English
had heard rumors of the Bruce’s headquarters and sought it with fervor. Perhaps
it was the Scots’ superior knowledge of the surrounding area.

But that wasn’t
enough. Jossalyn realized that there were at least two rings of scouts and
security around the camp. The three warriors they had met were the outer layer,
and whoever Colin had whistled to as they approached the heart of the camp would
be another level of protection. If anyone approached, either on foot or on
horseback, the camp could be alerted and either prepare for battle or
disassemble and moved, potentially with several hours of notice.

Jossalyn was in
awe of the scale and order of the rebel camp. Everywhere she looked, men were
practicing with their weapons, or were leaning over a map spread on a stump, or
even preparing food. She caught a glimpse of a few women as well. She assumed
that they were the camp’s lemans, but they also appeared to be helping out with
washing, cooking, and generally keeping the camp running smoothly.

The group weaved
their way through the maze of tents, seeming to know where they were going,
though Jossalyn was already thoroughly lost. Eventually they stopped next to a
small tent that looked like all the others, except for the fact that it was
adjacent to the largest tent she had seen yet.

“We got you all
set up after our most recent move, since we were expecting your return last
week,” Colin said to Garrick.

Garrick nodded his
thanks as he dismounted, then wrapped his hands around Jossalyn’s waist and
pulled her down to the ground next to him. She suddenly realized that all four
of the warriors surrounding her towered over her. Burke and Garrick were both
tall and broadly muscled, but to be inside a circle of four such hulking,
battle-hardened men was rather intimidating. She could see why the English
spoke of the Scottish rebels as monstrously large barbarians.

“We’ll let you get
settled,” Colin went on, “but then the Bruce would probably like to see you.”

“I’ll see to
Fletch,” Angus said, his attention suddenly focused solely on the horse. He
stroked its mane and whispered something into his ear. Colin only smirked at
the display of affection toward the animal. To Jossalyn, he said, “Angus had a
special place in his heart for beasties of all sorts, lass. It’s probably why
he likes Garrick so much.”

Garrick rewarded
Colin for his teasing with a wry smile and one raised eyebrow. Finn didn’t say
anything, and instead simply strode off to another part of camp without even a
farewell.

“Don’t mind him,
lass,” Colin said as he watched Finn walk away. “He’s a sourpuss, but he’s not
a threat to you.”

“If you say so,”
she said under her breath.

Colin and Angus bid
them farewell and departed also, with Angus leading Fletch behind them. Garrick
turned to the tent and held its flap, which functioned as the door, open for
her. She slipped under his arm and entered the tent.