Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"Are ye sure this is safe?"
The battlements were cold at night, the stone still holding the chill of the fading autumn day. Mhairi wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she followed Alpin up the narrow stairs, their footsteps echoing in the quiet.
She glanced at the drop on either side as they emerged onto the walkway.
"Perfectly safe." Alpin's voice was warm with amusement. "Unless ye're plannin’ tae climb onto the crenellations and dance."
"I'll try tae restrain meself."
He led her to a wider section of the battlements, where the wall curved outward, providing a better view of the sky.
The stars were scattered across the darkness like silver dust, brighter than Mhairi had ever seen them at her father's keep.
"It's beautiful," she breathed.
"Aye." But when she glanced at him, Alpin was looking at her rather than the sky.
Heat crept up her neck. She turned her attention firmly back to the stars, pretending she hadn't noticed. "Dae ye come up here often?"
"When I need tae think. Or when the castle feels too small." He settled himself against the wall, close enough that she could feel his warmth but not quite touching. "Me maither used tae bring me and me sister up here when we were bairns. She'd tell us stories about the constellations."
"What kind of stories?"
"Old ones. About warriors and queens and great battles fought in the heavens." Alpin tilted his head back, studying the sky. "She said that every constellation had a story, and that we could make our own if we wanted."
Mhairi looked up at the vast expanse of stars. "Make our own?"
"Aye. See those three stars there?" He pointed to a cluster near the horizon. "And that bright one just above them?"
"Aye."
"What dae they look like tae ye?"
Mhairi studied them, letting her imagination wander. "A... rope, maybe? With the bright star at the end like a knot."
"A rope," Alpin repeated thoughtfully. "And what would ye call it?"
She thought about the ropes that had bound her wrists at the auction. About Alpin cutting through Ashcombe's bindings in the forest. About breaking free.
"The Broken Rope," she said quietly.
Alpin went very still beside her. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Aye. That's a good name."
They stood in silence for a moment, both looking at the constellation Mhairi had just named. Then Alpin pointed to another cluster of stars.
"What about those?"
That group formed a rough shape, four bright stars in a square with two trailing behind like a cloak. "A man," Mhairi said slowly. "Standin’ strong. Protectin’ something."
"And what would ye call him?"
She turned to look at Alpin—at the scar on his face, at the strength in his shoulders, at the fierce protectiveness in his eyes whenever he looked at her.
"The Brave Laird," she whispered.
Alpin's breath caught. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and the intensity in his gaze made her heart race.
"Mhairi..."
"What?" She tried to sound casual, but her voice came out breathless.
"Naething. Just..." He shook his head, turning back to the stars. "Thank ye."
"Fer what?"
"Fer that. Fer seein’ me that way."
"It's how ye are," Mhairi said simply. "Brave. Protectin’ people who cannae protect themselves."
They fell into comfortable silence again, watching the stars wheel slowly overhead. The night was peaceful, broken only by the distant call of an owl and the occasional sound of guards changing watch below.
"There," Alpin said suddenly, pointing to a constellation Mhairi hadn't noticed before. "What dae ye see?"
She followed his finger to a scattering of stars that formed... "A crown? With two bright stars in the center like eyes."
"Aye. A crown and eyes." Alpin's voice had gone soft. "What would ye name it?"
Mhairi thought about how she'd felt on that auction platform—exposed, terrified, but still fighting. About how Alpin had looked at her, even then, like she was worth saving. Like she was more than what they were trying to make her.
"The Grey-Eyed Queen," she said.
"Perfect." Alpin shifted closer, and now their shoulders were touching. The contact sent warmth spreading through her despite the cold. "She sounds fierce."
"She'd have to be. Queens face terrible things."
"Aye. But they survive them." He paused. "And they're stronger fer it."
Mhairi's throat tightened. She stared up at the stars she'd just named, trying to see herself the way Alpin seemed to see her. Strong. Worthy. A queen rather than a victim.
"I dinnae feel like a queen," she admitted.
"Ye will. Give it time."
"How dae ye ken?"
Alpin turned to face her fully. "Ye're already thinkin’ like someone who's free, Mhairi. Ye just havenae realized it yet."
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to see herself as something more than a broken thing trying to piece itself back together.
"What about ye?" she asked, deflecting. "Dae ye have a constellation?"
"I just got one. The Brave Laird, remember?" His smile was gentle, teasing.
"Nay, I mean one ye named. From before."
Alpin considered, looking back up at the sky. "There. Those five stars formin’ a line with that cluster beside them."
"What is it?"
"The Lost Ones." His voice had gone quiet. "Fer me maither and sister. They died a long time ago. And fer all the lasses who've gone missin’ from me lands. The ones I couldnae save."
Mhairi's heart ached. Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand. His fingers closed around hers immediately, warm and strong.
"Ye're tryin’ tae save them now," she said. "By stopping Graham. By protectin’ me."
They stood hand in hand, looking up at The Lost Ones. Mhairi thought about Isobel, about the other women who'd been sold at that auction, about all the daughters and sisters scattered across the Highlands because men like Graham saw them as profit.
"We'll stop him," she said fiercely. "Taegether. We'll make sure nay more stars get added tae that constellation."
Alpin squeezed her hand. "Aye. We will."
The night grew deeper around them. The stars continued their slow dance across the sky. And Mhairi found herself leaning into Alpin's warmth, her head resting against his shoulder as if it belonged there.
He didn't pull away. Just shifted slightly to make her more comfortable, his arm coming around her shoulders to keep her steady.
"Alpin, I really am grateful fer everything ye have done fer me," she murmured. "And fer bringin’ me up here and showin’ me the stars."
"Thank ye fer namin’ them with me." His voice rumbled through his chest. "I havenae done that since me maither died. It feels... right. Tae share it with ye."
They stayed like that for a long time, Mhairi couldn't say how long, wrapped in the quiet and the darkness and each other's warmth. The cold couldn't touch them. Fear couldn't reach them. Up here, with the stars watching, they were safe.
Eventually, though, Alpin stirred. "We should go in. Ye're shiverin’."
"I'm fine."
"Ye're freezin’." He pulled back enough to look at her face. "And ye have tae be up at dawn fer Donnach."
"So dae ye. Fer whatever mysterious laird business ye dae all day."
"Mysterious laird business," he repeated, amused. "Is that what ye think I dae?"
"I have nay idea what ye dae when ye're nae rescuin’ foolish lasses or buyin’ them entire wardrobes."
"Mostly I sign things and look sternly at me Council." Alpin stood, offering her his hand. "Very important work."
Mhairi let him pull her to her feet, smiling despite the cold that immediately swept in where his warmth had been. "Terribly important."
They made their way back down the narrow stairs, Alpin going first to catch her if she stumbled in the darkness. When they reached the corridor outside her chamber, they both stopped.
"This is me," Mhairi said unnecessarily.
"Aye."
Neither of them moved.
He lifted her hand, the one he was still holding, and pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was courtly, proper, but the way his eyes held hers was anything but.
"Goodnight, Grey-Eyed Queen," he murmured.
"Goodnight, Brave Laird."
He waited until she was inside her room with the door locked before she heard his footsteps retreating down the corridor.
Mhairi leaned against the door, her hand still tingling where his lips had touched it. Outside her window, the stars continued their vigil.
The Broken Rope. The Brave Laird. The Grey-Eyed Queen.
Their constellations, their story, written in the sky.
She smiled and went to bed.
Dawn came too early, grey light creeping through the window of Alpin's chamber like an unwelcome guest. He'd barely slept, his mind too full of stars and grey eyes and the feel of Mhairi's hand in his.
He forced himself out of bed, splashed cold water on his face, and dressed quickly in practical clothes suitable for riding. If Ashcombe's men were camped at the border, Alpin had to see the situation for himself.
He found Callum in the courtyard, already checking saddles and weapons with the efficiency of long practice.
"Ready?" Callum asked.
"Aye. Who's comin’ with us?"
"Duncan, Fergus, Lachlan, and Brodie. All good trackers, steady in a fight if it comes tae it."
"It willnae come tae a fight," Alpin said firmly. "We're scoutin’, naethin’ more. I want tae see what we're dealin’ with, get a count of their numbers, maybe identify their commander."
"And if they see us?"
"Then we withdraw. Nay heroics, nay engagements." Alpin swung himself into the saddle. "I'm nae startin’ a war over a reconnaissance mission."
The ride to the southern border took most of the morning. They moved through increasingly dense woodland, following game trails and keeping to cover wherever possible.
The tracks Duncan had reported were easy enough to find once they knew where to look—boot prints in the soft earth, broken branches, the remnants of a campfire that had been hastily covered.
"English soldiers, definitely," Fergus muttered, examining a discarded water skin. "And nae tryin’ very hard tae hide their presence."
"They want us tae ken they're here," Alpin said grimly. "It's a message."
"What kind of message?" Lachlan asked.
"The kind that says ‘we're watchin’, and we're nae goin’ away’."
They pressed on, moving more carefully now. Alpin could feel the tension ratcheting up among his men—hands drifting toward sword hilts, eyes constantly scanning the trees.
These were good warriors, experienced and disciplined, but the uncertainty of the situation had them on edge.
A flash of movement ahead brought them all to a halt.
Alpin raised his fist, signaling for silence. Through the trees, perhaps fifty yards distant, he could make out a figure moving quickly through the underbrush.
Not toward them. Away.
"Scout," Callum breathed. "He must have spotted us."
"After him," Alpin ordered. "But take him alive. I want answers."
They gave chase, fanning out to cut off escape routes. The figure ahead was fast, agile, darting between trees with practiced ease. But Alpin's men knew these woods, and they worked together with the coordination of a well-trained pack.
Duncan broke left, circling around to head the runner off. Fergus and Lachlan pressed from the right, driving him toward the center. Alpin and Callum pushed forward, slowly closing the distance.
The man must have realized he was being herded because he suddenly changed direction, bursting out of the trees toward what looked like a deer trail.
Brodie was waiting.
The collision was brief and brutal. Brodie caught the runner in a tackle that sent both men tumbling to the ground. By the time Alpin reached them, the stranger was face-down in the dirt with Brodie's knee in his back and Duncan's sword at his neck.
"Dinnae move," Brodie growled.
The man went still.
Alpin dismounted, approaching cautiously. "Search him."
Lachlan patted down the prisoner, pulling out a knife, a small purse of coins, and a rolled piece of parchment sealed with wax.
"English," Lachlan confirmed, examining the seal. "Bearin’ Ashcombe's crest."
Alpin's jaw tightened. So, it was confirmed then. Ashcombe had sent scouts, or messengers, into MacDougal territory.
"Let him up," Alpin said. "But keep him restrained."
They hauled the man to his feet, twisting his arms behind his back. He was young, perhaps twenty-five, with the lean build of someone who spent more time running than fighting.
Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead where he'd hit the ground, and he was breathing hard from the chase.
"Name," Alpin demanded.
The man spat at his feet.
Callum's hand moved toward his sword, but Alpin held up a hand. "I asked ye a question. I'll give ye one more chance tae answer civilly."
"Go to hell, Highland savage."
"Wrong answer." Alpin nodded to Brodie. "Check that wound on his side. The one he's tryin’ tae hide."
The man's eyes widened slightly, enough to confirm Alpin's suspicion. During the struggle, he'd seen the stranger favor his left side, moving as if something pained him.
Brodie yanked up the man's shirt, revealing a bandaged wound that was seeping fresh blood.
"Old injury," Brodie reported. "Maybe three, four days. Sword cut by the look of it and startin’ to fester."
"Who gave it tae ye?" Alpin asked. "One of me men when ye were spyin’ on us?"
The stranger's silence wasn’t answer enough.
"Tie his hands," Alpin ordered. "We're takin’ him back tae the castle. That wound needs treatin’ if we want him alive long enough tae be useful."
"The Duke will—" the man started, then caught himself.
"The Duke will what?" Alpin leaned in close. "Come fer ye? Demand yer release? I'm countin’ on it. Because when he daes, we'll have a nice long conversation about trespassin’, spyin’, and threatenin’ MacDougal lands."
Fear flashed across the stranger's face, quickly suppressed.
They bound the man's hands securely and hoisted him onto Duncan's horse, with Duncan mounted behind to keep him from attempting escape.
The prisoner said nothing more, but Alpin could see his mind working, trying to figure a way out of the situation.
"Back to the castle," Alpin said. "Double time. I want him locked up and that wound seen to before it kills him."
They rode hard, maintaining tight formation around their prisoner.
Alpin's mind was already racing ahead, planning.
This changed things. A messenger meant Ashcombe was coordinating something, sending orders or receiving reports.
And a wounded scout meant there had already been at least one confrontation with MacDougal patrols.
The situation was escalating faster than he'd hoped.
They headed to the castle, and he was already planning his interrogation. Ashcombe had made a mistake sending scouts into his territory. And Alpin intended to make the most of it.
The game had changed. And he needed to make sure he stayed three moves ahead.