Chapter Sixteen
Alex stood gazing out her casement at the round moon glowing high in the star-studded sky. Anticipation shot through her.
“’Tis time,” Rory said, coming to stand at her side. “I have given Michael and the others my excuses. As far as the inhabitants of Luthmore are concerned, I have journeyed south to assist the abbot.”
Alex turned, her eyes traveling the length of Rory’s tall, muscular form. He had traded his plaid for a faded, brown tunic and frayed brown hose.
She smiled her approval. “Ye look like the humblest of peasants.”
“’Tis because I am a humble peasant. Remember?”
“A peasant ye may be, Rory MacVie, but humble?” She looked up at him and tilted her head to the side, pretending to consider the possibility.
He smiled under her scrutiny, and once again she was struck by how painfully good-looking he was.
She laughed. “Ye’ve not been humble a day in yer life.
” Then she fanned out her usual threadbare tunic and spun around. “How do I look.”
He smiled. “Ravishing as always. Although I do believe there is something different about ye.”
She lifted the hem of her skirt. “Right ye are. I’m wearing shoes.”
He stepped toward her. A shiver shot up her spine when his hand, warm and strong, came to rest at her waist. “We are ready then,” he said, his voice low.
She nodded, looking up into his sky-blue eyes, which glinted with excitement, mirroring her own thrill over what was to come. Whatever David’s mission involved, she knew it had to be important. She knew it would bring Scotland that much closer to freedom.
Alex turned to Mary. “Be careful while I’m gone. See to the needs of our people, but, also, do not neglect yerself. In the evening, seek quiet and solitude in the chapel and give up the day’s worries to God.”
Mary smiled, tears flooding her golden-brown eyes. “I promise,” she said and threw her arms around Alex’s neck. “Ye know I hate when ye go away. Is there nothing I can say that will make ye stay put for once? Scotland has enough agents; whereas Luthmore cannot afford to lose another leader.”
Alex held Mary close. “Luthmore will only remain strong if Scotland does. Anyway, Luthmore has ye, Mary, and I leave our people in yer care with full confidence.” Then she pulled away just enough to wipe at Mary’s tears. “Ye ken I love ye, but I must go. ‘Tis my calling.”
Mary nodded and drew a deep, bolstering breath. “I ken.”
Alex kissed her cheek. “I will miss ye, but I shall not be away long. Mind that William stays out of trouble.”
“I will,” Mary said. Then she stepped away, allowing Rosie room to throw her arms around Alex.
“Mind ye don’t do anything foolish,” Rosie admonished.
Mary scoffed. “Given she’s about to steal away into the night, smuggling weapons through lands infested with thieves, the real sort, with a gorgeous Scottish rebel. I think it’s too late for that warning.”
Rosie bristled, shooting a scowl at Mary. “She knows what I mean.” Then Rosie turned back to look at Alex, cupping her cheeks. “Don’t be foolish. No running headlong into burning buildings.”
Alex pressed a kiss to Rosie’s cheek. “I promise, no more great heroics.”
“Och, lass, don’t ye be making promises to me that ye can’t begin to keep. God gave ye to Scotland so that ye could save it.”
Alex smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Rosie squeezed her tightly. “Now that’s one promise I know ye’ll keep. I love ye, lass. Yer mother’d be proud.”
Alex smiled at her womenfolk, their faces blurred by a curtain of tears. Then she turned to Rory. “Are ye ready?” she asked.
Rory stepped toward Mary and dipped his head.
“We should be gone less than a fortnight.” Then he turned to Rosie and pressed a kiss to her plump cheek.
“Keep that door shut and locked by command of yer lady. Be ready to invent illnesses as needed.” Then he turned and lifted the trap door in the floor and took the offered torch from Rosie’s hand.
The staircase wound down, then leveled off and wormed through the ground.
When they arrived at the door that would lead them beyond the outer wall, Rory stopped and looked at Alex, his eyes gleaming with longing in the torch fire.
“I never would have believed so dark and dank a place could ever conjure such powerful memories.”
Alex let Rory’s sensual tone wash over her. She glanced at the hard, stone wall she had leaned against while his hands had boldly stroked her hardened nipples, and his touch had driven her to new heights of...
“Nay!” she blurted. “Keep walking. We must at least make it beyond the castle grounds fully clothed—or else we are just a mockery of the cause.”
Under the cover of hooded cloaks and the dark of night, they set out through the forest where Rory had already prepared their wagon, covering the weapons with bags of seed.
She peeked beneath one of the bags. “At long last, these swords will make it into the hands of Scottish soldiers.”
“We will meet David at the Iron Shoe. Someone there will be able to take the wagon the rest of the way to Haddington Abbey.”
“He had best be trustworthy.”
“Mayhap it will be a she.”
She smiled. “Mayhap ye’re right. The abbot is always full of surprises.”
She leaned back in the wagon and watched the stars shining beyond the canopy of leaves. “I love Luthmore, but when I leave home I...I do not ken. It is hard to describe how I feel. ‘Tis like a need I didn’t even know I had is being satiated.”
“I believe I ken what ye mean. Well, in a way. Ye see, I was always content staying home in Berwick when it was still our great city. I had no wish to leave my family or friends. Had the city not crumbled beneath the might of King Edward’s hammer, I would still be happily laboring on the docks.
But my elder brothers, Jack and Quinn had been fisherman once upon a time.
They both loved home and hearth, but the sea called to them.
The call was so mighty in Quinn’s heart, he even sailed on a merchant ship for several years.
That is what resides in ye. Ye love yer family and ye honor yer duty, but ye’re restless. Ye crave adventure and the unknown.”
“Michael would say I’m imprudent.”
“Aye, and so am I, which is why we’re a perfect match.”
We are a perfect match, her heart screamed. We were meant to be together.
She sat up. “Duty would argue otherwise,” she whispered.
“Tonight, ye’re a rebel. And our first duty is not to home and hearth and not to each other—it’s to Scotland.”
She grabbed the reins from his hands and gave the horses a nudge forward. “Right ye are. Alba gu bràth!”
They rode on for several hours, keeping constant watch on the roadside for thieves hidden among the trees. Sunrise teased the horizon, making the sky blush a soft pink. Soon, they would be able to stop and rest their horses, for daylight would banish tinkers and highwaymen deeper into the forest.
Alex sat straighter and looked at Rory. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. It sounded like a bird being strangled.”
“Mayhap, Robert followed us and is serenading the trees,” Alex said, unable to resist the jest.
Rory snapped the reins, urging their tired mounts into a trot. “Ye’re right,” he said.
Alex raised her brows in surprise. “Rory, I promise ye, Robert is nowhere near us.”
“Robert isn’t, but someone else is.”
Another discordant caw rent the early morning air.
Alex stiffened. She scanned the forest for movement, but all was still.
She reached beneath her seat and discreetly grabbed her crossbow.
Holding the stirrup securely with her feet, she used both hands to pull the string back and locked it in place.
Then she laid a bolt in the groove just as another call sounded from the opposite side of the road. “Hoo.”
She laughed out loud. “I’ve never heard a worse attempt at a bird call.”
Rory smiled but kept his eyes trained on the trees. “I’m fairly certain we are about to meet some—” he pulled back on his reins just as a man swung down from the trees and dropped to the ground in front of them, landing on his arse. “Robbers,” Rory finished, bringing their wagon to a stop.
The man scrambled to his feet, reclaiming his club that had fallen several feet away.
“Halt,” the man said when he turned to face their wagon.
Alex glanced at Rory. Then she looked back to the man. “We already have.”
He scratched his matted hair. “Oh, right,” he said, coming toward them. His threadbare tunic and hose hung from his rail-thin body. He pointed his club at them. “Stay where ye are.” Then he turned and shouted into the woods. “Come on, Rabbit.”
A moment later, a stout man with a bald head and bushy beard jumped from the bushes. He glowered at Rory and Alex, thrusting a sickle in their direction.
“What took ye so long?” the first man snapped.
“Ye didn’t give me the signal, Badger, and I told ye not to call me Rabbit. Me thievin’ name is Silver Hawk.”
Badger rolled his eyes. “All right, Silver Hawk. Now, go check the wagon.”
“’Tis only seed,” Rory said.
The stout man sneered at Rory. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Rory tensed as he watched the man circle around the wagon. Raising his sickle high, Silver Hawk slashed open one of the bags.
“Badger, he’s right,” the thief said, coming back around. But Badger didn’t answer. He stared at Alex. Rory flexed his hand. His sword lay on the seat right behind him. If he needed to, he could slay both fiends before they drew their next breath. He just hoped it didn’t come to that.
“We are but humble farmers. We have nothing that would interest ye,” Rory said.
Badger narrowed his eyes on Alex. He spat on the ground. “I’ll take that bit of silver she’s wearin’ around her pretty neck.”
Alex smiled. “Come closer, and I’ll give it to ye.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Badger,” Rory warned.
Badger opened his mouth full of rotted teeth and laughed as he walked up to Alex. “What are ye goin’ to do, farmer. Run me through?”
“Nay,” Rory said. “But she might.”