Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (20 page)

It was small and
simple, but also surprisingly clean and orderly. There was no floor, only the
four canvas walls and a sloping roof. In one corner there was a cot with a
straw mattress and a blanket folded at the foot, and a few feet away on the
other side there was a simple wooden table with a pitcher of water and a basin.
There was only one other piece of furniture, a wooden shelf with a few
essential items on it like a cup, bowl, a bar of soap, and the like.

Garrick entered
after her and was watching her closely.

“It’s very simple,
I know, but—”

“But all the essentials
are covered, I’d say,” she said lightly. She didn’t want to give him a chance
to start thinking that she was somehow looking down her nose at the
accommodations. It was far more basic than her life had been at Dunbraes, but
she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He was still
looking uncomfortably around the small space, though. “If you’d like, I can
arrange to sleep somewhere else.”

She turned to
fully face him, capturing his jaw between her hands. “Now why would I want you
to do that?” she said, a slight tease in her voice.

He relaxed under
her touch. “Very well, lass, but you can’t say I didn’t try to protect your
reputation—and protect you from my lust.”

She smiled up into
his handsome face. His jaw was bristly with dark stubble. It could almost be
called a beard, given how long it was. She could feel his jaw clench under her
touch, and she watched as his gray eyes lit with fire as they roamed over her
face. He leaned in slowly, placing a soft but intimate kiss on her lips. He
lingered there for a moment, but then sighed and pulled back from her.

“We shouldn’t keep
the King waiting,” he said, though the look he was giving her said that he
wanted to do otherwise.

He approached the
pitcher and basin, then poured some water over his hands and quickly scrubbed
them over his face. He held out the pitcher to her, and poured the water in a
slow stream as she rinsed her hands and face as well. It wasn’t much, but it
was the least they could do in preparation to see the man who had crowned
himself King of Scotland.

The thought sent
Jossalyn’s already-taut nerves pulling even tighter. She re-plaited her hair as
neatly as she could, then smoothed her wrinkled and dirty dress with her hands,
though it did little to help. What if the Bruce sent her away, refusing the
help of the sister of their English enemy? What if he did worse? What if he
believed her to be a spy or a traitor? What if…?

She forced herself
to take a deep breath and stop the spinning of her mind. She would have her
answers soon enough, she told herself firmly.

When they were as
ready as they could be, she turned to exit the tent, but his hand on her arm
stopped her. She turned back to him and watched as he removed both the dagger
and its scabbard from his boot, then extended it toward her. She looked up at
him in confusion.

“I want you to
have this,” he said simply.

“Why? Do you think
I’ll need it?” The memory of that very blade pressed against Finn’s neck
chilled her inside. What she unsafe here?

“Nay, lass—or,
probably not, anyway,” he replied with a frown. She guessed that he was
thinking about the same moment that had occurred less than two hours ago as
well.

“I would just feel
better knowing that you have it, that’s all.”

For some reason,
she didn’t entirely believe his intentionally casual tone, but she took the
dagger anyway. She didn’t have anyplace to put it, though, so after searching a
bit, Garrick found a strip of leather on the tent’s shelf, then bent and took
her ankle in his large, warm hands. As he tied the dagger and sheath to her
ankle with the piece of leather, she let herself be calmed by the feel of his
hands on her skin.

“We need to get
you some boots, lass,” he said at her feet as he finished up fastening the
leather. “These slippers aren’t made for the woods, and they are nearly falling
apart.”

She chuckled,
remembering how rushed she had been when she was preparing to sneak out of
Dunbraes and stow away with Garrick and Burke, the two kindly blacksmiths from
a few miles north whom she had just met. Yes, her footwear choice had been
wrong, but she never would have guessed that she would be standing in the
middle of Robert the Bruce’s secret camp in the Highlands of Scotland less than
two weeks after she escaped Dunbraes. So much had changed.

Garrick held the
tent flap for her again as they exited, but they didn’t have far to go. The
large tent practically right next to theirs was apparently Robert the Bruce’s
meeting and strategy headquarters. They stopped in front of the tent and a
fierce-looking warrior poked his head inside the canvas.

“Garrick Sinclair
and the lass he arrived with are here to see you, sire.”

Jossalyn’s stomach
twisted with nervousness, and her heart pounded in her ears.

“Come in!” came a
deep voice from within the tent.

The guard pulled
back the canvas flap, and they stepped inside.

It took a moment
for Jossalyn’s eyes to adjust to the relatively dim interior of the tent
compared with the bright summer day outside. She slowly took in the carpeted
floor, several heavy upholstered chairs, and the large wooden desk in the
middle of the tent. Behind the desk sat a man who appeared to be slightly older
than Garrick, handsome and well-built. His dark brown hair was pushed back from
his forehead, and he had a neat beard on his face that had a faint tint of red
to it. When she met his brown eyes, she saw that he was scrutinizing her.

She immediately
lowered her head and dipped into a deep curtsy, as she was used to doing in her
brother’s presence. She silently cursed herself for staring into the King’s eyes.
Her brother would have beaten her for a lesser offense toward anyone of noble
blood.

“Nay, lass, rise,
rise!” the Bruce said, standing quickly from his chair and walking around to
the front of the desk.

She dared a glance
up at him from her crouched curtsy and was surprised to see a kind expression
on his face. Garrick extended a hand to her and helped her stand, then went
directly up to the Bruce and clasped arms with him.

“It’s good to see
you again, Garrick,” the King said warmly.

“Aye, it’s good to
be back,” Garrick responded with genuine heartiness.

She felt her eyes
widen at the exchange, but couldn’t tamp down her surprise. Then the Bruce
turned back to her, and her pulse hitched again.

“And who have you
brought with you?” he said to Garrick, though his dark eyes surveyed her with
curious scrutiny.

“This is Lady
Jossalyn Warren,” Garrick replied. She registered in the back of her mind that
he hadn’t tried to hide her last name this time. Perhaps since she had already
shared it with the three warriors who had greeted them in the woods, he figured
she wouldn’t mind him telling the Bruce.

But her bluster
and courage from the forest seemed to have left her, and her pounding heart was
nearly deafening in her ears. She almost dropped into another curtsy out of
habit when Garrick said her name, but then she realized that she would be
disobeying a King, and jerked herself upright halfway through.

She saw a little
smile playing at the corner of his mouth at her awkward movements, but then she
watched as her name registered and his face darkened slightly. “You wouldn’t
happen to be a relation of Lord Raef Warren, would you lass?” he said with a
frown.

“Y-yes, my lord,”
she said shakily. “He is my brother.”

The King’s frown
deepened slightly and he shot a look at Garrick.

“Why don’t you
take a seat and explain things to me, lass,” the Bruce said, motioning toward
one of the finely upholstered chairs nearby. Her knees shook slightly as she
walked over to the chair and sank down into it. The Bruce walked back around
his desk and resumed his seat, gesturing for Garrick to take a chair as well.

She registered in
the back of her mind that there was a partially drawn curtain behind the desk
at which the Bruce sat, and she caught a glimpse of a bed. So this was not only
the Bruce’s strategic headquarters, but also his private living space. She
swallowed hard, more intimidated than ever to be here. But the Bruce was
looking expectantly at her, waiting for her to speak. She swallowed again and
took a deep breath.

As Jossalyn
launched into her story, she decided to hold nothing back, hoping that her
motivations and earnestness would be clear to the King. She told him of what
life had been like under her brother, his cruelty and controlling ways, and the
freedoms she would steal whenever she could. She explained how her brother had
gone to Cumberland to meet with King Edward I, who was rumored to be ailing,
and how her brother had hoped to ingratiate himself and gain a Barony from the
sickly King.

She described
meeting Garrick and Burke while she had snuck to the village to lend her
healing skills to those in need, and how she had decided to stow away with them
in the hopes of escaping her brother’s cruelty. But the two men had taken her
back to Dunbraes, just as her brother was returning. A battle had broken out,
and the three of them fled.

She told of how
she had helped heal Burke’s leg, and how they had almost been discovered by her
brother and his men, but Garrick had saved them. She did her best to explain
her realization that she wanted to join the rebellion and offer her healing
skills, and how Garrick and Burke finally agreed to her request. She spoke of
their journey east, then north, and finally, their parting with Burke and their
arrival at the Bruce’s camp. She left out Garrick and her lovemaking, since
even the thought of mentioning something like that to a King made her blush.

“It has been an
adventure to say the least, sire,” she said, her voice steadier now after
sharing her story. “I only hope that you will allow me to aid your cause in the
best way I know how—by lending my healing skills to your warriors.”

He rubbed his
bearded chin in thought for a moment, absorbing what she had said. He turned to
Garrick with a sharp eye. “What do you think of the lass’s request, Garrick?”
he said, leaning forward slightly.

Garrick considered
the Bruce’s question for a second, then gave himself a little nod. “I think we
would be incredibly lucky to have her skills,” he said honestly.

“And what of the
fact that she is English, and one of our fiercest enemy’s sisters no less,” the
Bruce prodded, keeping a keen eye on Garrick.

“I believe her to
be in absolute earnest and veracity when she says that she supports our cause. She
is to be trusted.”

Jossalyn felt a
swell in her chest at Garrick’s words. She knew that he trusted and believed in
her—enough to bring her here, at the very least. But to hear him speak so sincerely
and straightforwardly on her behave to the King send a flood of emotion through
her. She sent him a look that was full of everything she was feeling. His gray
eyes met hers, and she saw her emotions mirrored back in his gaze.

Robert the Bruce
glanced from one to the other of them, seeming to gather all that passed
between them in the quick exchange. He steepled his fingers in front of him,
considering for a moment.

“How about this,
lass? Why don’t you stay on with us for a few weeks, or even months if you
like, and see how you find the work.”

He didn’t have to
state his intention; it was plain to Jossalyn. She was getting a probationary
trial period, and not just for her benefit to make sure that she enjoyed
working in a war camp. The Bruce wanted to make sure he could trust her fully,
and even with Garrick’s word of approval, he wanted to see for himself. She
understood his shrewdness and need for complete certainty. Even one traitor in
their midst could mean the ruination of the entire rebellion.

She nodded. “Thank
you, sire. I look forward to being of use.”

He stood and she
followed his example. Garrick stood as well, but the Bruce turned to him and
motioned for him to stay. He walked her to the front flap of the tent and held
it open for her.

“I shall look
forward to learning more about you, Lady Jossalyn Warren,” he said
mysteriously.

She didn’t know
exactly what he meant, but her thoughts were too jumbled to sort it out just
yet. She walked the few paces back to Garrick’s tent and entered. She sat down
on the corner of the cot, suddenly realized that she was alone in the middle of
Robert the Bruce’s secret war camp.

Taking a deep
breath, she waded into the swirling pool of her thoughts and emotions, trying
to untangle her lingering fear, her elation at Garrick’s words, the King’s
reaction to her story, and her chance to stay here at the camp for at least a
few weeks. She only wondered how much of it she would have sorted out by the
time Garrick returned from his private meeting with the King.

The Bruce turned
back from the tent flap to face Garrick.

“She is certainly
a remarkable woman,” he said appreciatively.

“Aye, Robert, she
is.” The Bruce insisted that when they were alone, Garrick should call him by
his given name. At first it had been a struggle, but now he truly felt
comfortable enough with him to do so. He didn’t want to strain their relaxed
relationship, so he tried to keep his voice light even though he felt a twinge
of something at the Bruce’s tone—was it jealousy? Territoriality?

He must not have
hidden his annoyance very well, for the Bruce broke out into a hearty laugh. “Stand
down, man, I wouldn’t dare cross you on this matter! But I now know where
things stand between the two of you.”

No matter how long
Garrick spent in the Bruce’s company, he was always struck by how sharp and
shrewd the man was. There was no point in trying to deny it.

“I have come
to…care for the lass,” Garrick said, running his hand through his hair.

“And you truly
believe she can be trusted?” the Bruce said, all mirth leaving him as he pinned
Garrick with a serious stare. “Is there anything you couldn’t or wouldn’t say
in front of her that I should know?”

“Nay, Robert, I
would trust her with my life, and you know that’s not something I say lightly,”
Garrick replied, holding his King’s gaze.

The Bruce arched
his eyebrows at his words, nodding to himself in thought. “Truly remarkable
indeed,” he said almost to himself.

“I do not worry
about
her,” Garrick went on. “But I do worry
for
her. Though she is a healer,
she is less familiar with the wounds of war. She may not be prepared for the
more grisly aspects of warfare,” he said, remembering her reaction to the
horrific scene in the glen. “I am also concerned about how she will be
received.”

“You think the men
will turn on her because she’s English, or because she’s Raef Warren’s sister?”

“Perhaps. It may
be hard for some of them to accept her.”
And her safety is paramount to me.
He didn’t speak the last part, but he guessed by the Bruce’s sharp eye on him
that the man had gathered the unspoken thought.

“I suppose some of
them might be a bit…resistant at first. If she is as good a healer as you say,
she shouldn’t have any problems for long, though.” The twinkle returned to the
Bruce’s eye. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the men falling head
over heels for her, not shunning her.”

Garrick cracked a
wry smile, which the Bruce found amusing enough to laugh at again. When his King’s
mirth finally died down, Garrick turned serious once more.

“I do have some
news for you, Robert. It wasn’t relevant to Jossalyn’s tale, so she didn’t
mention it, but you need to hear this.”

“Out with it,
man.”

Garrick took a
deep breath. “Longshanks is dead.”

The Bruce exhaled
sharply and sat down in one of the chairs next to Garrick’s.

“That was why
Warren was returning to Dunbraes from Cumberland. Edward II has likely already
been crowned.”

“The Hammer of the
Scots. Dead,” the Bruce breathed. “And we know nothing of his son’s desire for
either war or peace.” Already the shock was wearing off and the Bruce’s
incisive, calculating side was kicking in.

“Aye, but you know
the news before the rest of Scotland, and likely before many parts of England
as well.”

“You’ve done well,
Garrick,” the Bruce said, turning to him once more. “We will have to be
prepared for the worst, of course, but at least we have time to ready
ourselves. In fact, this may prove a good time to fully commit to our shift in
strategy…” He rubbed his beard as he thought for another moment.

“To what would you
attribute our success at the battles of Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill?”

Garrick considered
the Bruce’s question. The man had a mind designed for strategy, and he often
liked to pose these kinds of questions to his inner circle, either looking for
weaknesses in their tactics or strengths that could be developed for future
engagements.

“We fought on our
terms,” Garrick said finally. “We didn’t play by the English army’s rules. Instead,
we used the landscape, the element of surprise, and the chaos of battle to our
advantage.”

The Bruce nodded,
his eyes bright with excitement at the memories of victory. “And you were
central to our success as well, Garrick—don’t forget that. It was you who was
firing arrows on horseback rather than in a straight line among the other
archers, you who suggested that some of the men lie in the heather or in the
surrounding forests rather than stand before the English waiting to get hacked
down.”

Though he remembered
his role clearly, his chest swelled at his King’s praise. Those two battles,
where they had finally tried something other than acting like a lesser version
of the English army, had been the turning point in the rebellion. Garrick was
with the Bruce when they had been forced to flee, first to the Hebrides islands
and then to Ireland just last year. They had all been near giving up, but the
Bruce wanted to make one more push for his claim to the Scottish crown and
independence from England.

During their
flight and exile, the two of them, along with a few of the Bruce’s closest
confidantes, devised a strike-and-retreat strategy, which used their knowledge
of the Scottish landscape and harnessed the element of surprise, to attack the
English. It had worked, both at Glen Trool in April and Loudoun Hill in May. Suddenly
Scotsmen from all corners of the country were joining the rebellion and
pledging their allegiance to the Bruce and his cause.

It had seemed like
a foolhardy, last-ditch effort at the time, but their guerrilla tactics had led
them to two small victories, enough to keep the cause alive. Now they were
poised to finally tip the scales of war one way or the other. On the one hand,
Longshanks’ death could mean the perfect time to strike, sealing their claim to
independence. On the other, Edward II was an unknown entity who very well might
redouble his father’s efforts to bring Scotland to heel. Edward II could even
change his father’s tactics, making the Bruce’s recent success moot.

The Bruce stood
again, pacing across the carpeted floor of the tent absently. “I have been
thinking that those victories should be our guide on how to proceed with the
English. You have been the one to spearhead this stealth fighting strategy. You
have clearly proven its effectiveness on the solo missions I have sent you on. You
have been able to strike quickly and quietly, leaving the English no target to
attack.”

He halted in his
pacing and turned to Garrick, the full force of his dark stare leveling him. “I
want you to train all of our men in such tactics. We will be an entire army of
silent, invisible warriors who strike quickly then dissolve back into the
landscape. We will harry the English until they are so frustrated, so
exhausted, so depleted, that they’ll have to leave Scotland alone. We will be a
thorn in their side.”

“Or a thorn in
their hand,” Garrick said, subtly reminding the Bruce of their motto, “No one
attacks me with impunity,” and the image of the Scottish thistle that resulted
in a handful of thorns if a person tried to grab hold of it.

The Bruce’s eyes
lit with an ambitious fire. “That’s exactly it!” He took a step toward Garrick
so that he stood over him in his chair. “What do you think, Garrick? Will you
train the men in this new style of warfare?”

“Aye, Robert, I
will.” Of course, Garrick would have agreed no matter what—the Bruce was his
King, and he was loyal to him until death.

But it was more
than that. He had seen for himself how effective their new strategy had been at
both Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill. And of course, there was a reason he had
risen so rapidly among the Bruce’s ranks to be one of his closest advisors: his
skill at stealth attacks had proved invaluable to the cause. Even though he was
only one man, his work had helped level the playing field for an otherwise
outnumbered and out-trained Scottish rebel force. The thought of the entire
rebel camp being educated in evasion, stealth, and surprise attacks sent a
surge of hope through him that they might truly claim their freedom.

There was another
aspect of the Bruce’s plan that made his chest squeeze in optimistic
anticipation, too. If his main task was to train the rebels in the art of
guerrilla warfare, that would mean he could no longer spend weeks or months in
the field working alone. Though he had always been proud of his work and
grateful to serve in the rebellion, he found himself wanting something else
now—or someone else. This new scheme could mean that he would be at camp more
often. Suddenly the idea of having a loved one—a wife or even a family—didn’t
seem so impossibly incongruous with his life and work.

The Bruce was
watching him closely, and must have been able to perceive something of these
thoughts on his face, despite the fact that Garrick prided himself on being
unreadable. But the Bruce was not only a warrior trained in surveillance—he was
also a sage observer of men.

“You have worked
in the field for many years, Garrick. Perhaps it is time for a new chapter in
your life. Though I know you do not think of yourself in this way, I sense that
you will be an excellent leader and teacher. Plus, you might enjoy
the…connections that such work allows you to make.”

Garrick didn’t
miss the knowing twinkle in the Bruce’s eyes as he spoke. He didn’t need to
convince Garrick of the benefits of such a course of action—he could have
simply commanded him, and Garrick would have acquiesced. But the Bruce was
showing Garrick that he understood very well the fact that Garrick would be
able to pursue Jossalyn in this new role. This appointment was not only a
strategically smart move for the rebellion, it was also a reward for Garrick’s
loyal and steadfast service. Damn, but the Bruce was a clever man, Garrick
thought with admiration.

Garrick was about
to stand and excuse himself from the Bruce’s company when one more thought
struck him. “And if such a…connection should prove stronger than any other?”
His chest squeezed at the thought, but he needed to know if the Bruce would
allow one of his top warrior-advisors to marry.

The Bruce smiled
faintly, sadness touching his eyes. He was likely thinking about his own wife
and daughters, who had been kidnapped and imprisoned by the English the year
before. It had been the start of their dark time together, when all hope seemed
to be lost for the cause. As far as they knew, the Bruce’s women were still
alive, but Garrick knew that for the Bruce, this fight was deeply personal.

Seeing his King’s
deep anguish at the loss of his wife and children had always made Garrick
silently swear not to make such attachments, so as to avoid the potential pain
of losing them. But now he realized that a life without love was meaningless.
Instead of shying away from love to avoid its potential loss, he suddenly
understood that he would fight to the death to protect it—to protect
her
.

Was it love with
Jossalyn, then? Aye, what else could it be? He was drawn to Jossalyn like no
other, was fascinated by her, and longed to know more about her. She fired his
blood like nothing he had ever experienced, and he was in awe of her beauty,
grace, skill, and strength. Even the mere thought of her not being in his
life—or worse, being taken from his life—made him blind with rage and grief. He
could only imagine what the Bruce had gone through—and was still living
through—at the loss of his wife and daughters.

The sadness
flitted away from the Bruce’s dark eyes, though, to be replaced by a knowing
light of approval. “Sometimes for all that we maneuver and strategize, Fate
makes her own plans, eh, man?”

But then the King
turned more serious. “I will give you the same suggestion I gave the lass. Why
don’t you view these next few weeks as an information-gathering mission? If in
that time your connection proves a solid one”—and he didn’t say it, but Garrick
thought,
and if Jossalyn proves herself to be loyal and trustworthy,
Englishwoman that she is
—“then who am I to stand in the way of Mistress Fate’s
plan for you two?”

Garrick’s pulse
surged. The Bruce would allow him to marry Jossalyn. He was being cautious, as
always, when it came to the safety of the larger cause, but nevertheless,
Garrick had an opportunity to secure the King’s blessing on a union with the
English sister of one of Scotland’s greatest enemies. And with Garrick’s newly designated
role as a trainer of the rebels, marriage suddenly seemed more possible—and
more desirable—than ever before.

In truth, he
wouldn’t even consider marriage if it weren’t for Jossalyn. He wouldn’t just be
getting married, or acquiring a wife, he would be binding himself to
her
forever. The thought send a jolt through him. How greatly life had changed
since he met her only a couple of weeks ago outside Dunbraes.

Garrick stood and
exchanged a firm forearm grip with the Bruce and turned to exit the tent. He
had to remind himself that the Bruce had only given him permission to explore
the possibility of marriage with Jossalyn. He still needed to secure his final
approval. And, of course, he had to ask the lass! Though she had given herself
physically to him, and had proclaimed her feelings for him, they had not spoken
of the future, or of love.

He forced away the
voice inside his head that told him she would reject him, that a fling didn’t
mean she would want to be tied to him for the rest of her life. The old
misgivings about his unworthiness still haunted him, but he reminded himself of
his word to her that he wouldn’t doubt her. He would have to learn to trust her
feelings for him. For if she could come to love him, anything was possible.