Chapter 5
“Willnae stopping in this town delay my arrival at Dunnvie Castle?” Adrina asked, pulling at the reins to halt her horse. “My people are enchanted, and I can ill afford tae dally here.”
Duncan looked back at her, trying to contain his impatience.
He thought that the task of accompanying the lass to her home would be simple, but throughout this journey, things weren’t as easy or as comfortable.
He noticed little things about her like the fall of her soft hair, and the tilt of her stubborn chin.
Since the forest was reasonably still, he could hear every noise, ever sigh she made.
And as hard as he tried, he couldn’t block the image of her naked and lying on her back.
“I need whisky,” he said, unable to keep the irritation from creeping into his voice, “If your people are enchanted, then they can stay that way for a wee while longer.”
She scrunched up her pert nose, clearly not liking his answer. But he pressed his mount forward, his sights set on the small town in the skyline.
Behind him, he heard her utter an unladylike curse, which was then followed by the muffled steps of hooves trampling over vegetation. His smiled grimly. At least she wouldn’t fight him on this one.
But his victory was short-lived. Like an untried youth, the randy thoughts and frustrations continued to hound him.
He needed either to bed the lass, or drown his lust with a drink.
And since the former option was out of the question, veering off into the town of Cannpach was the best solution.
True enough, the slight detour would cause a delay, but the visit into town would be well worth the trouble.
His spirits lifted slightly as he thought of slaking his thirst. Every town in the highlands brewed their own version of whisky, but from what he could recall, the town of Cannpach made an exceptional variety.
A few minutes later, they rode through the main street, which was lined with houses.
Glancing over at Adrina, he noted the slight frown that marred her pretty lips.
He could easily guess what was going through her mind.
But he planned to continue to ignore her resistance.
They were already in town, and he still needed his drink.
Out of long habit, he scanned his immediate surroundings.
Hints of blue smoke rose above the squat buildings, although there were few people on the street.
But there was something about this place that seemed peculiar.
Then it hit him. In every town newcomers were usually greeted by the bairns.
And it was the children that dogged the strangers to wherever they went.
Duncan looked down the empty street. Where were they?
“This way,” he said, leading Adrina toward the only tavern in the town.
At hearing the sound of horse hooves, a long-faced stable boy emerged from the back of the establishment. He waited silently for them to dismount and then took their horses away.
As they walked into the building, Duncan noticed the few men scattered in the common room. Two patrons sat by the entrance, and were engaged in deep conversation.
Spotting a couple of empty seats, he started to move toward them, but his eyes drifted back to the men. Correction. Only one of them was a man. The other, while large and stocky, was a greenhorn. The cocky, arrogant air that surrounded the lad reminded Duncan of his younger brother Cailean.
But it wasn’t their rough exterior that initially caught his notice; it was their curious tunic and hose, which stood out like a prickly thistle.
No doubt they were sassenachs. But were they King Harold’s men, and if so, how did they get this far inland?
It didn’t make sense. The last he remembered, the English troops were gathering forces several miles south of the Scottish border.
The cavalry would have a difficult time moving a large number of men over Scotland’s unfamiliar and inhospitable terrain.
Yet Harold’s men wouldn’t be camped at that site forever.
Perhaps they were now on the move. There was also a possibility that Queen Gertrude’s spies were unaware of this mobilization.
So were the enemies now making their way to Bracken Ridge?
That idea brought a deep shudder to run through his body.
If this was the case, then the clans might miss their opportunity to ambush the bastards at the pass.
And with the English knights swarming inland before they were ready, their chances of victory would be lessened.
“What will ye be having?” A woman inched forward, while a wee bairn peeked out from behind her skirt.
“I’ll take a dram of your whisky.” Then as an after thought, he added, “And bring a cup of sweet heather ale for the lass.”
She gave them a quick nod. And for a moment, she shifted her fearful gaze to the two foreigners before she scurried away to get the drinks.
“She seems quite nervous,” Adrina observed.
“Aye,” Duncan agreed. “’Tis odd indeed.”
He caught the eye of the tavern keeper, and beckoned him over.
“There’s something different about Cannpach,” Duncan said casually.
The tavern keeper eyes narrowed, assessing him from his head down to his kilt. “A MacGregon, are ye?” he said, his voice low and cautious.
“Aye, Duncan MacGregon is the name. And ye are?”
“Torin MacGin, owner of this establishment since my uncle keeled over last spring.” His voice dropped further. “I havenae seen a MacGregon in these parts for many years.”
“We keep tae our own lands,” he said shrugging. Something was happening in this town, and Duncan had an inkling that Torin knew what it was. “Tell me, what has changed here?”
Tension gathered at the corner of the other man’s eyes and his lips became pinched and white. “Many things,” he said. Then he shook his head slightly, and slanted his gaze toward the two interlopers.
Duncan leaned back slightly on his stool, and surreptitiously followed the man’s line of sight. The two rough men were still immersed in their conversation.
Adrina also shifted her gaze to the strangers, and when she looked back at him, her brows raised in alarm. “Those men are sassenachs,” she hissed. “We should leave now!”
“Ye stay here,” he said, ignoring her alarm. He pushed his stool back and started to get up. There was no way that he would leave this town without finding out more information about the Englishmen.
“What are ye doing?” She reached over and gripped his forearm. “’Tis certain that they will kill ye.”
“I’m nae that easy tae kill,” he said, shaking off her hand.
“Are ye mad?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.
She clapped her hand to her mouth, but it was already too late.
At her outburst, the younger man at the table glanced over at them.
The bored expression on his visage disappeared as soon as his scrutiny lit upon Adrina.
Suddenly he slapped both palms on the table as if to draw everyone’s attention to his menacing presence.
Pushing himself up from his seat, he sauntered over to where they sat.
“Is there a problem here, mistress?” he asked.
“Nay, there’s nay problem,” Adrina said, averting her face as if to dismiss him.
“’Tis certain that this bastard distresses you,” the man insisted. His leering eyes slowly scanned her slim body, and lingered on her breasts. He licked his lips. “I can take you away from him,” he said, flashing his yellow teeth. “You’ll like tumbling with me, I vow.”
For a split second the shock of his proposition drained the blood from her countenance, but then she thrust her chin into the air.
“I dinnae lay with any man,” she said, her voice turning icy.
Her gaze fixed on the foreigner while her hand lowered to the hilt of the dirk which she carried at her belt.
“But if I did, I would definitely nae lie with a vile sassenach.”
“Och, she’s a clever lass,” Duncan interjected, drawing the other man’s attention away from Adrina.
“A Scot.” The man screwed up his face as if he smelled something rotten.
“Aye, ye will find many a Scots in Scotland,” Duncan said sarcastically.
His companion on the other side of the room let out a bark of laughter.
“Shut up, Jop,” the lad said through clenched teeth.
Ignoring him, Jop let out another snort. “Leave them be, Harman,” he said before tilting his cup to his mouth. “We have far better things to do than associate with these dirty Scots.”
Harman leaned closer to Duncan, the smell of whisky on his breath. “I don’t like you,” he snarled.
“I dinnae like ye either,” he said. Standing up abruptly, he shoved the other man out from his space.
A startled yelp escaped from the lad. Losing his balance, Harman toppled to the ground like a heavy sack of grains. When he recovered enough to look up at Duncan, animosity radiated from his eyes, and angry red splotches sprang to his cheeks. He pushed himself off of the floor.
“You bastard!” he roared. “I’m going to slaughter you!” He started to pull his sword out of its scabbard when he caught sight of the small group of highlanders gathering behind Duncan.
“Ye can try it,” Duncan replied calmly, his hands clenched underneath the table. “But I doubt my friends will take too kindly tae that.”
“Then you’ll all die!” he said, glaring at them. He withdrew his sword and pointed the tip at Duncan. “You’ll go first. Jop!” he roared, calling for his friend to join him. He then gnashed his teeth, and lunged heedlessly at Duncan.
Before Harman could reach him, Duncan swiftly slid his claymore from its leather sheath. And when the man came at him, he deflected his sword blows, evading the knight at every turn. In a surprising move, the guard sallied his attack, relieving Duncan of his weapon.