Legacy of the Mist Clans Box Set (78 page)

But eight of the brigands lay dead on the ground.

Sheltered under Connell’s right arm, Kenna looked to Mairi under his left. Their gazes locked, and Kenna could not stop her tears as they broke free. Sobbing she hugged Mairi tightly. “We did it,” Kenna whispered. “We sent him running like a whipped cur.”

“Aye, lassies,” Connell said softly. “That ye did.”

Men surrounded the hut with buckets, but the hovel was beyond saving. Fortunately, it was well away from other buildings and pavilions so it did not run the risk of igniting anything else. All they could do was watch it burn.

“Bloody hell!” a voice roared. “What happened?”

Connell stiffened. “That would be the king.”

Kenna was certain her nerves would snap. She looked up at Connell. “What do we tell him?”

“I dinna ken, lassie,” he muttered. “Pray I can think of something before he comes over here.”

Mairi backed away slightly then looked at Connell, and her eyes widened. “Blessed Mary, Connell, ye have blood all over ye. Are ye hurt?”

“Nay, lass, none of it be mine.”

For a moment, Mairi appeared as if she didn’t believe him.

Kenna returned her attention to the Bruce. Men gathered around him, bowing, but she heard voices rising excitedly as everyone spoke at once. Several men pointed in their direction. Kenna wanted to hide when the king’s gaze landed on her. But she forced herself to straighten. She had just sent the man who had terrorized her running. The Bruce was nothing compared to him.

The Bruce strode to them, his retinue only a step behind. Kenna spotted Jamie and Ian, both looking at her in concern.

Connell released them and stepped forward, bowing. “Yer Majesty.”

Kenna and Mairi both curtseyed, then Mairi turned her attention to quieting her bairn.

“My men tell me the recruits attacked ye directly. I dinna permit blood feuds among my men.”

Connell arched an eyebrow then glanced over his shoulder at Kenna and Mairi. “Praying yer pardon, Yer Majesty, but we arena yer men.”

A muscle in the Bruce’s jaw twitched. “Is this a blood feud?”

“Nay, yer majesty, they werena recruits but the brigands we warned ye about. The lassie recognized the leader and cried a warning. They attacked tae silence her.”

Kenna was grateful to note that many men nodded and voiced their agreement.

“But they focused solely on ye, even entering the hut tae pursue the lassies. Why did they not run for their lives upon realizing they had been discovered?”

Connell lifted his hands helplessly. “Dinna ask me tae explain the actions of one who is brainsick.”

“Brainsick?”

“He must have been tae attack two wee lassies and a bairn.”

The Bruce looked back to her and Mairi. Kenna squared her shoulders and returned his gaze evenly. Then he focused on her biodags still stuck in her belt. “And ye fought him off?” he asked incredulously.

“I had a guardian angel watching over me, Yer Majesty,” she said, knowing the Bruce would most likely not believe her if she told him the truth. She paused and looked at Mairi. “And a friend with good aim.”

The hut fell into itself, sending a shower of sparks into the air. Kenna flinched, pushing Mairi farther away from the blaze.

“I see,” the Bruce said, studying her and stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Well, it appears ye will need new quarters.”

“I will see tae it, Yer Majesty,” Jamie said.

The Bruce nodded and turned on his heel, striding away.

Connell sighed and watched him leave then turned back to Kenna and Mairi. He grabbed the packs as the others dispersed, and they followed Jamie in search of their new quarters.

HHH

It had been ten days since Aidan had left, and he missed Kenna terribly. He marveled at himself—never had he pined after a lass, and he wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. But his sparrow continued to inhabit his dreams and possess his thoughts.

Aidan tried to divert himself by focusing on the task at hand. Working discreetly out of the tavern, he met with the birds Raven and Kenna had placed, but this time he spread disinformation about Mairi and her bairn. No matter how many times he did it, it never sat well with him, but there was no help for it.

As the rumors Aidan started began to spread, his birds reported back with Aidan’s false information coloring the facts. That was exactly what he wanted. He knew the Bruce would not leave finding the bairn entirely to him. The king may claim to not trust any of the spies in his employ, but Aidan knew better. The false information he planted would definitely go a long way toward diverting the Bruce’s spies as well.

But Aidan’s work wasn’t only to spread disinformation. With the Bruce in Glen Trool proper, Aidan knew Longshanks would be sending forces this way. His birds reported that the first vanguard had been seen several miles away and moving steadily closer. Aidan knew that he would have to return to the Bruce’s camp before the vanguard arrived and the Bruce mobilized his forces for battle. He would probably do well to investigate the army along the way so he could report their numbers and position. That meant he would have to leave in a day or two.

The sun had set long ago, and Aidan sat in the tavern’s common room drinking from a tankard of ale while he awaited his dinner. The tavern was quite full, the villagers boisterous. The weather had been decent the past few days, and many had been working to prepare their fields for spring planting. They gathered at the tavern in the evening to relax after a hard day’s work.

A young man with reddish-blond hair and the bare beginnings of a beard entered. Aidan had never seen him in the village before, so he watched him unobtrusively. He barked a greeting to a few people who welcomed him in surprise. Aidan quickly surmised they knew him well but hadn’t seen him in a long time. He spoke with two farmers, Clyde and Lorne, and gained an ale. His gaze swept the common room and stopped on Aidan. He looked away, spoke a bit more to the two farmers, then stepped toward Aidan’s table.

Aidan’s hand fell on the hilt of his boot dagger, and he drew it but kept it under the table.

Without so much as a by your leave, the man sat across from Aidan and took a long drink from his tankard. “I bring word from the Bruce’s camp,” the man said softly.

Aidan said nothing, never allowing his expression to change.

“One of the men, Jamie, is my cousin. It seems there is a group at the camp with two lassies, one is a wee thing according tae him.”

Aidan’s heart lurched and pounded against his ribs. Had something happened? Was Kenna all right? But still he didn’t speak and kept his expression neutral.

“Seems this wee lass is worried over her man. My cousin bade me tae find him and give him a message.”

“And what is that message?” Aidan growled, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger.

“She misses him,” the man said and winked. He took another drink and his humor faded. “But that isna all of it. She wishes him tae ken that Munro escaped the day after her man left.”

Aidan’s heart nearly stopped. Saints’ blood! How had the bastard managed to escape? But he dismissed the useless question, pleased at Kenna’s ingenuity and that she had managed to get word to him. Even though the man’s direct approach was something he would never encourage from his birds in a public tavern, at least here Aidan didn’t worry too much over it since the locals knew and accepted him.

The young man took another drink and shrugged. “I dinna ken who this Munro fellow be.”

“Trouble,” Aidan growled.

“Aye, that be the message my cousin gave tae me.”

Aidan returned his dagger to his boot then pulled a few coins from his pouch, deftly giving them to the man before anyone could see the movement. “Thank ye.”

The man nodded, took another drink, then started to rise.

“A moment,” Aidan said scowling. “How long has it been since yer cousin gave ye the message?”

“Four days. It took a bit tae find ye.”

“Thank ye again.”

The man nodded and returned to his friends.

Aidan’s thoughts raced, his gaze flitting over the people and lingering on the shadows. Broken arm or not, Munro’s escape changed everything.

A
idan left the village early the next morning. Heading south, back to the merchant who had given him his coin, would add a half day to his journey, but he wanted to know if the man had any new information, especially being somewhat of a distance from where Aidan had been starting the rumors of a lass as strong as an ox with a bairn.

The church bells rang for terce as Aidan stopped before the merchant’s shop and bid greeting to the man as he opened it.

“Good morrow,” the merchant said. “How be ye this fine morning?”

“Well,” Aidan said as he dismounted and secured his horse.

“Come in,” the merchant said, stepping inside. “I have fresh mulled wine and pastries.”

Judging from the smell, they were indeed fresh. Even though he had broken his fast before he left, Aidan’s belly rumbled. “Thank ye,” he said as the man poured a cup and gave him a small roundel with a pastry. “I dinna mean tae keep ye from yer shop.”

“Och, dinna worry over it,” the merchant said, drinking from his cup.

“I am headed north today,” Aidan said. “I thought I’d check with ye before I left the area.”

The man nodded and glanced toward the opening, but it was still early and few people were about. “I’ve heard there indeed be a lass with a bairn. The wee lad is rumored tae be of noble birth, but I wonder how that can be?”

“Pray pardon?”

“Heard the lass was a homely wench, as stout as a house. Makes ye wonder how drunk the daft fool was who bedded her.”

Aidan nearly choked on his mulled wine as he fought not to laugh. He swallowed hard but nodded. “Aye, did ye ken where they might be at?”

“Headed northwest, perhaps even tae the Hebrides, trying tae hide from Longshanks.”

“Longshanks?”

“I dinna ken why, but that be the rumor.”

“Thank ye,” Aidan said, finishing his mulled wine and pastry. “If ye dinna mind, I need tae purchase some supplies for my journey.”

“Of course,” the man said, placing his cup on a small table. “What do ye need?”

Aidan acquired his supplies. They haggled briefly over the price, and Aidan gave him extra coin for the information. Aidan was pleased to learn how quickly his rumors had traveled. Hopefully, if the Bruce had any spies looking for Adam, Aidan had them chasing kelpies.

He returned to his horse and mounted. Now he just needed to locate the English vanguard.

HHH

Darkness enveloped the land. The night was clear and cold, the moon had not risen yet, but it would be full when it did. For now, the stars were a glittering wash across the black velvet sky. Aidan stopped his horse and listened intently; a low rumble of noise reached him. It wasn’t anything he’d normally hear on the trail. It was a disturbance of sound, difficult to identify and not coming from a single source. He looked to his left and spotted a game path leading through the trees and up a good-sized hill. He trotted up the path easily enough, his horse making small leaps over debris, fallen branches, and ruts created by water runoff.

Aidan reached the crest of the hill and moved his horse through the trees but stopped and dismounted before he reached the edge. He flipped the reins over a branch. Even on a dark night like tonight, the gray beast was too easy to spot.

Aidan moved silently through the trees, headed toward the sounds that grew in strength and became more distinct. He spotted the orange glow in the night sky from what surely must be a number of campfires, the scent of smoke heavy in the air. Noise from men laughing and jesting as well as blows from the smiths’ hammers echoed for quite a distance.

Moving like a wraith in the night, Aidan located a vantage point along a rise where he could observe the camp and still stay hidden. He crouched and peered through the cover into the valley below. Thanks to the many campfires and torches, he could see the details of the vast army quite well.

What he saw chilled his heart. Colorful pennants and banners stirred in the night breeze. After three days of traveling northeast, it appeared that he had finally located the English vanguard.

He focused on the center of the camp and the massive pavilions the noble leaders inhabited. Among the many banners, he spotted one that belonged to the Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke. No doubt he was in command. Judging by the direction of the road the army camped on, it was a strong possibility they were headed to Ayr. The English earl had defeated the Bruce in a hard-fought battle the year before; it seemed he meant to challenge Scotland’s king again.

Aidan’s gaze quickly traveled to the bulk of the forces. They had what appeared to be almost one thousand infantry and three hundred heavy horse. He shivered. If the Bruce met them on open ground, he would surely be slaughtered. But as Aidan thought of the area around Glen Trool proper, he realized the terrain would favor him and his small army. The rugged ground would make the use of heavy cavalry difficult—that meant the earl would rely more on his infantry. On foot and on their homeland, the Scots excelled.

His gaze then stopped on another section of camp, and he frowned as he examined the banners. Welsh?

A few years ago, Welsh forces had been part of Longshanks’s military, but many were still bitter about the defeat of their own country at Edward’s hand. The group of Welshmen had gotten drunk and rioted. Edward had been forced to turn his own troops against him to quell it, and many had been slain. Afterward, he had been hesitant to call on the Welsh again, but it seemed he had slowly returned to using them in his army.

The group that Aidan spotted didn’t seem to be large, but he had a feeling they were Welsh bowmen. He thought of Falkirk, and the chill gripping him worsened. Wallace’s defensive
schiltrons
, a circle of pikes to defend against heavy cavalry, had held until the Welsh bowmen started picking them off on a whim.

Aidan decided he had seen enough and returned to his horse. The army was entirely too close to Glen Trool. He needed to return quickly and get Kenna and the others out before the battle started—if the Bruce would allow him to leave.

As he mounted, his horse perked its ears and lifted its head, staring toward the road. Aidan clenched his jaw and quickly moved back into deeper cover, but the bare winter trees were still too thin for his liking. He froze, watching the road intently.

A group of men carrying torches and riding on horses appeared, galloping, but their pace relaxed. They were coursers similar to the one he rode, not heavy horse. A patrol, he belatedly realized. Aidan focused on the leader and scowled.

The man appeared a bit older than Aidan. He rode easily, and Aidan realized his mount was finely bred. The leader’s armor was well made and in good repair. But as Aidan studied the leader and the heraldry on his surcoat, his eyes narrowed and he inwardly cursed.

The patrol was also Welsh. Aidan suspected this man was the leader of the group in camp that Aidan had spotted.

A barked shout caused the leader to hold up his fist, stopping his group. Within moments, another group of five appeared on the road and joined the first.

“Sir Lewys,” one man called as he pulled his horse to a stop and bowed in the saddle. “Milord, we spotted the tracks of a lone rider, but it was difficult to tell in the dark which direction he ended up going. I thought it would be prudent to inform you that we may have someone trying to scout our forces.”

Aidan’s gaze stopped on one man in the second group as he spotted the sling over the man’s right arm. Aidan inwardly growled a curse.

Munro.

So the bloody bastard was working both sides and was probably the one who spotted his track.

Keeping his mount to a tightly controlled walk, Aidan turned it away from the group. He knew they would either see or hear him in a moment, and he wanted a head start. Aidan glanced over his shoulder.

“When we return to camp,” the leader said, “I’ll tell the earl to double the patrols in size and frequency.” Abruptly, his head snapped around and he spun his horse, his intense gaze examining the woods around them. Aidan’s heart battered against his ribs as for an instant. The man looked in his direction and hesitated. Aidan could have sworn the man stared right at him. He tore his gaze away and looked at the game trail before him. The road was directly in front of him, but this new path he had taken had been washed out with water runoff. There was about a two-foot drop for his horse. He gave the animal its head and kicked it forward.

The horse looked down and jumped to the road, its hooves making a definitive
thud
. Aidan knew the Welshmen would certainly hear that and kicked his horse into a gallop about fifty paces down the road from the patrol. He glanced over his shoulder again.

The leader’s harsh expression hardened even more. “Ride!” he snarled, kicking his horse into a gallop.

Aidan looked to the road and balanced over his horse’s withers as the animal hit full stride.

He heard shouts and the sound of the horses galloping behind him. Through the trees, Aidan saw the full moon beginning to rise, unusually large in the night sky. He desperately needed the light, fearing his horse would stumble in the dark if the moon did not rise quickly enough. He passed a crossroads but kept going straight north. He had to gain enough distance in order to find cover and hide. He glanced over his shoulder yet again.

Bloody hell! The leader was gaining on him, riding smoothly, but as the man reached the crossroads, he held up his fists and turned right. The original group of men riding with him followed while the secondary group of five continued to pursue Aidan.

Aidan turned back to the trail, his thoughts spinning. Saints’ blood! What was he doing? That road led back to where the army had camped but also intersected a third road. Was he going to try to cut Aidan off or gather reinforcements from the camp? Aidan couldn’t be certain of what the man planned, and he pushed his mount even harder.

Unlike the Welsh leader, the group chasing Aidan consistently lost ground to him. Just a bit more and he might be able to dart off the road and lose them. The road made a long, sweeping turn to the left, heading northeast. On his right, the trees thinned a bit, and Aidan knew he approached a large, open glade. On the left was a good-sized lake. The full moon had ascended enough that he could see its light reflecting off the water. The men pursuing him lost even more ground.

Aidan galloped past where the glade opened to the road. He heard a shout and glanced to his right, expecting to see riders charging toward him, trying to cut him off. Instead, he saw the leader still astride his horse, and next to him stood a bowman with a Welsh longbow—as long as he was tall—in his hand. The bowman loosed his arrow. Before Aidan could truly react, his horse squealed hideously and collapsed. Aidan flew from the saddle, the earth rushing toward him. He struggled to turn the fall into a roll and slammed into the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs. Pain shot through his right shoulder and down into his back as he plowed through the dirt. Instinctively, he angled to the side, fearing his horse would land on him. The horse flipped over, its legs kicking, its hooves narrowly missing Aidan’s head. It tried to rise once, squealed, and fell back to the ground, dead.

Snarling against the pain radiating through him, Aidan regained his feet and sprinted into the trees with the Welshmen right behind him. He dove into the thickest part of the forest he could find, forcing his pursuers to abandon their mounts. His heart racing and his breath rattling in his throat, he ducked and darted through the shadows, putting as many trees between them and his back as possible. Finally, he found some thick undergrowth and dove onto his belly, crawling over rocks and roots as thorns ripped at his clothing.

He heard footsteps and froze, trying to slow his ragged breathing.

“He went this way!” a voice shouted and sprinted past, continuing deeper into the forest.

Aidan peered through a gap in the branches covering him. More boots ran past him and kept going. He was unable to get a solid count of the men, but he prepared to move and then froze as a pair of boots stopped directly in front of him. He looked upward and saw a man standing with his back to him. The man’s left arm rested at his side, but Aidan couldn’t see his right. Then Aidan realized his right arm was in a sling.

Munro!

Aidan didn’t hesitate. He drew his boot dagger, sucked in a deep breath, and lunged from the bushes. Aidan’s left hand reached for Munro’s shoulder, and his dagger shot out to slice open his throat.

At the last instant, Munro leapt forward, and Aidan’s fingers closed on nothing, his dagger slicing through the now empty air. Munro spun, his eyes widening when he focused on Aidan. He brought up his own dagger, his left hand gripping the hilt tightly.

“Ye bastard,” Munro growled.

“Ye coward,” Aidan shot back. He stepped away from the bushes, his entire body coiled as he searched for an opening. He remembered the few times they had tangled in the past. Most often it was a game of wits and quietly outplaying the other. Only twice had their encounters turned physical. Both times Aidan had been pressed but had gained the advantage, but both times, as Aidan moved in for the kill, the Fates had pitied Munro, and the man managed to escape Aidan’s vengeance.

Those memories prodded his anger and only strengthened his resolve.

“The Bruce was going tae hang me,” Munro whispered through clenched teeth. He curled his lip and spat on the ground. “Ye were always too full of yerself, always lording over yer birds as if ye were important, as if ye were a laird. Life was only a great jest tae ye.”

Aidan shook his head. He had never known why Munro hated him, but he no longer cared. “Yer betrayal wasna a jest, and ye dinna see me laughing now.”

Munro lunged at him, swiping at him with his dagger, but the left-handed attack was awkward. Aidan leapt backward and easily avoided it. He stepped forward to counter, but Munro regained his balance and Aidan could not find an opening. They returned to circling each other.

“I vowed tae end ye,” Munro said, his voice taking a desperate edge. “I would reveal the Hawk and his secrets. I would destroy all he had worked tae create.”