Chapter Three
The winter sun was low and bright, making Hamish squint as he kept his silent vigil atop the fortified wall.
This was farming country and acres of pasture stretched before him.
Some miles ahead, undulating green fields met with a dark line of ancient woodland in the dip of a shallow valley.
If Hamish’s suspicions were correct—which they nearly always were—this was the point at which his quarry would emerge.
A gust of wind stirred the folds of his heavy cloak. Beside him, Aleric swore.
“What is it?” Hamish did not lift his gaze from the bare trees.
“Something sharp flew into my eye.” Alaric threw back his hood and rubbed at his face. “’Tis an unholy place we have come to.”
Hamish grunted. ’Twas true, they had crossed over the border into England. But somehow these rolling hills and vast skies put him in mind of home. Even now, with his body braced for battle, part of him was conscious of the silvery song of a ruddock drifting over from the house’s gardens.
A nice house it was, standing four square and strong with mullioned windows and neatly tended lawns.
He had not allowed his men to cross the threshold but he guessed, if the situation were different, therein they would find comfortable furnishings and a warm welcome.
Mayhap a smiling serving maid offering warmed wine and a hearty broth.
And there the fantasy faltered. Pleasing as his surroundings may be, he could not pretend that any warm welcome would be extended to their party.
No Scottish raiders would be welcome in the home of an English lord.
Especially not raiders who had so bloodily dispatched a small band of men whilst they slept.
Siegfried was right.
We should not have done it.
Hamish glanced sideways at his long-trusted companion, who stood so still he might have been hewn from granite. Only his long grey hair moved in the brisk breeze. His breathing was steady and calm, but his pale blue eyes still held a glint of steely disapproval.
“Cursed, we shall be,” Siegfried had muttered, when the rising sun illuminated their massacre two days prior.
“Well fed we shall be,” Alaric loudly corrected Siegfried. “And our path forward will be cleared of difficulty. Ye mark my words, old man.” He had been heating what remained of their enemies’ pottage on the spluttering embers of their campfire.
Relations between the two of them were now strained so tight that Hamish could almost see the bands of tension shimmering between the young warrior and the loyal Seneschal. He stood between them, head held high, inhabiting the role of peacemaker.
But Alaric’s prophecy had indeed come to pass. Their slaughter of Lord Gaunt’s men had set in motion a chain of events that saw the three of them situated within the grounds of Ember Hall itself. Within hours, the future Lady of Greenock would pass through this very gate.
Into his hands.
“There they are.” Siegfried extended his hand toward the distant line of trees.
“Three riders,” declared Alaric.
“Three?” Hamish’s eyebrows shot up. “What Lady travels about such troubled lands with an escort of just two guards?” He sniffed in derision. “I begin to think you were misinformed, Alaric. This is no prized bride we are about to capture. She is hardly worth the bloodshed.”
Alaric looked unconcerned. “Ye will see the truth for yerself in nay time at all.”
“And we will have nay more bloodshed.” Siegfried’s voice was firm. He planted his hands on the low wall and leaned his weight upon it.
“We will do what needs to be done,” Alaric spoke before Hamish could reply.
Siegfried spun around, his eyes blazing.
Hamish quickly put both arms out to his sides, keeping his comrades apart.
“To be sure, Siegfried, I am nay dressed like a lavvy heid just for the fun of it.” He indicated the red and gold crest blazing from the borrowed cloak that hung inches from the ground.
Hamish was a tall man, most likely standing a full head higher than the former owner of his current attire.
Siegfried’s mouth quirked. He and Alaric were still dressed normally, in the faded tunics and well-worn cloaks that had seen them through these last weeks.
After the massacre, they had only been able to salvage enough clothing for one of their party.
The rest had been either torn to shreds or soaked with blood.
But Hamish said it would be enough for him alone to appear in Gaunt’s livery.
Enough to cause momentary confusion, at least.
“We introduce ourselves as the Lady’s onward escort,” he said firmly. “The exchange will be peaceful. Why should she doubt the tale?”
Alaric inclined his head. “Ye dinna look like a man who serves the English aristocracy.”
“I can be humble and mild when the occasion demands it.” Hamish gave a little bow to demonstrate, his untamed hair tumbling forward over his powerful shoulders.
“But the place is deserted.” Siegfried looked behind him, into the empty courtyard. “If she has but half her wits, she will suspect something is amiss.”
“And if she raises the alarm and her guards mount an attack, we will deal with it.” Hamish held his gaze steadily. “But if not, there is nay cause for bloodshed.”
“There was nay cause for it on the moors.” Siegfried shot a look of daggers at Alaric. “Those men were sleeping. We could have set their horses free and let the men live. Beaten and bruised, mayhap. But alive.”
“To run back to Gaunt and swell their ranks?” Alaric spat on the stone slabs. “Ye have gone soft, old man.”
Hamish cleared his throat. “’Tis true, this mission has not gone to plan. But ye canna deny, Siegfried, that ’twas unexpected good luck to find no family in residence here.”
“’Twas not luck. ’Twas news spreading of what we had done.” Alaric crossed his arms and widened his stance.
“The violence of it.” Siegfried spoke slowly, his disapproval evident.
“Which proved a point. Which sent yon English lord scrambling back to his parents’ castle.” Alaric curled his lip, half in disgust and half in amusement.
Upon finding Ember Hall empty and unguarded, Hamish had wasted no time.
He immediately set off riding south, fast and hard.
In less than a day, he intercepted a messenger boy carrying an important message to the Dowager Countess of Felsham.
It was a letter of warning, telling the future Lady of Greenock to steer clear of the borderlands.
To join her family and take shelter at Wolvesley Castle until the danger passed.
It was a letter penned from a brother to a sister, and this was enough to give Hamish pause.
For a moment.
But if Hamish did not stand against Gaunt, the man would harm his sister. Elena. The only sister he had left. Gaunt would strike her down with no more feeling than a man carving up a chicken.
Hamish knew this, like he knew his own name.
The Laird of Greenock.
As he would be until his dying day.
“She is coming,” Alaric breathed.
Something in his voice made Hamish look at him askance. Alaric’s dark eyes glittered in his unwashed face as he beheld the approaching Lady. She was close enough for them to make out the shimmer of golden hair across her slender shoulders.
“Come, pretty lady,” Alaric mocked.
“She is not for ye.” Hamish nudged him with his elbow, making his voice light.
“The spoils of war?” Alaric raised one eyebrow before clapping him on the shoulder. “I am jesting, man. Fear not. I ken ye havena had a woman for some time now. This one is all for ye. If ye want her.”
Hamish’s eyes travelled back to the approaching party.
The woman was mounted on a chestnut destrier.
Her seat and hands were light. Was it his fancy, or did the set of her shoulders indicate some inner determination, a glint of steel that was borne out by the upward tilt of her chin?
He dampened his lips with his tongue, unsure why it had become momentarily hard to breathe.
He was about to say that he did not want this woman, nor any other woman for that matter. But neither did he want Alaric laying claim to any man’s sister. Hamish grunted instead. “’Tis not the first thing on my mind, right now.”
“Nay?” Alaric snorted. “’Tis most always the first thing on mine.”
Siegfried glowered at them both. “They are almost upon us.”
Hamish waved his hand. “Go down and stand before the gates. Allow them through. I will greet them in the courtyard. Close the gates behind them so we can better deal with any trouble.”
“Pen them in, ye mean?” Alaric was pleased with the picture.
“’Tis only a precaution.” Hamish checked his sword belt, conscious of the short-hanging cloak flapping about his calves as he descended the stone steps.
The grounds of the hall had seemed peaceful before, but now there was something menacing about the unnatural stillness.
Not so much as a wisp of straw blew about the cobbles.
The barns were barred and bolted, though they had managed to gain access to the stables for their three horses.
Hamish could hear Luar pawing at the stone floor. Was she trying to warn him?
Girlish laughter filled his ears.
“That’s a mighty poetic notion, brother mine.”
Hamish could see Brianne, clear as day, standing between Siegried and Alaric as they bowed a stiff welcome to the approaching riders.
The woman came first, her blue cloak billowing over the horse’s hindquarters.
The two riders following her both slouched in the saddle and hardly spared a glance toward their surroundings.
Brianne shook her head in disgust while Siegfried and Alaric struggled with the hinges of the gate.
It seemingly had not been closed in some time, which might explain why it had been standing open when they themselves arrived.
Hamish snapped his attention away from his men and back to the woman, who rode toward him like a queen approaching a subject. She reined in her horse as he bowed low.
“Welcome, milady.”