Chapter Twenty Seven #2
Suddenly, a man sprang from the impenetrable forest, his sword at the ready. She gasped as she met his hard eyes, but to her surprise, the tension fled from Ian’s back.
“Alba gu bràth.”
Still eying her with suspicion, the man sheathed his blade and walked toward them. He shook hands with Ian. “Alba gu bràth.”
“This is my wife, Jo,” Ian said.
“Alba gu bràth,” she said, trying out the secret password of their cause for the first time while she dipped into a low curtsey.
The man shook his head disapprovingly but managed what she guessed might have been an attempt at a smile.
Chuckling, Ian turned to her. “Ye may have guessed that this is Nick.”
“How could she have done that?” Nick scoffed.
Ian slapped Nick on the back. “I told her all about yer warm and friendly ways.”
Nick looked back at her, his hard eyes impassive. “If warm and friendly is what ye want, Paul will be here at any moment.” Then he turned to Ian. “The others are bringing along the horses. I came ahead to ensure the Harborage was secure.”
No sooner had Nick made his announcement, than the forest came alive around them.
Three men stepped into the glade, towing horses, the largest of which, she knew straightaway.
The other two she guessed were David and Paul.
David, she decided, was one with shoulder-length blond hair and intelligent green eyes.
And the other man, with a boyish mop of brown curls, warm eyes, and a smile so broad she feared it would crack his face, had to be Paul.
“Alba gu bràth, Ian,” Ramsay boomed.
“Alba gu bràth!”
The mighty blacksmith shook Ian’s hand, then turned to her and smiled. “Hello again. So, ye let him join ye on yer travels after all.”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t very well let him travel on his own. Look at him.” She shook her head and sighed. “He’s defenseless against the dangers of the open road.”
Ramsay threw his head back with laughter. “Ye’re funny...” His eyes flashed wide. “And Scottish?” He whirled around, his numerous, long, blond braids, lifting off his back. “Is my memory faulty, or is she just pretending.”
“She was pretending,” Ian began. He turned to Jo and smiled encouragingly. Then he put his arm around her waist and stepped back to address the men. “Scotland’s agents, it is my great honor and privilege to present to ye, Lady Josselyn Fergusson.”
Ramsay’s eyes flashed wide. “Lady! How is that even—”
But David reached out his hand, silencing the blacksmith. He stepped forward, his green eyes narrowing on her. “Are ye the daughter of Laird Malcom Fergusson?”
At the mention of her father’s name, Ramsay’s eyes widened still, and Paul’s seemingly limitless smile faltered, his gaze becoming intent and eager. Even Nick was looking at her with undisguised interest.
She made her stance strong. “I am she.”
David drew closer, looking at her intently. Then he gasped. “Of course, ye are. Look at ye. One brown eye and one blue.” He dropped to one knee. “I had the honor of serving with yer father. He was a great man.”
Ramsay, too, came forward and knelt. “I only knew him by reputation, but I ken what he has done for the cause. ‘Tis an honor.” He looked up and winked. “A surprise but an honor.”
“What is going on,” Nick snarled, his attention now on Ian.
Jo stiffened. “There’s no need for anger.”
“I’m not angry,” Nick snapped at her before his gaze settled once more on Ian. “I’m curious to know why Ian is here in the Harborage with the daughter of Malcom Fergusson. Something’s happened and I want to know what.”
Ian nodded “Yer right, Nick. Something has happened.”
Ramsay stood up. “Whatever it is, the Saints are ready to ride. We have our masks, black armor, wooden crosses, and we’ve a set for the new Saint Peter,” he said looking pointedly at Ian.
“Good. Because we have our first mission.”
“The abbot has given us orders?”
Ian shook his head grimly. “Nay, the abbot is our first mission. He’s been taken.”
An uproar ensued. Jo gripped Ian’s hand tightly, her gaze darting from man to man as they all spoke at once, their faces twisted with fury.
“Whoever is responsible will pay,” Nick snarled. “I will cut him from stem to stern!”
“I thought ye said yer brother softened him a wee bit?” she whispered in Ian’s ear while the other agents continued to vent their surprise and anger.
“This is softer, if ye can imagine.”
“Silence,” Ramsay thundered, drawing everyone’s attention. “Explain,” the blacksmith said, the one word spoken with such vehemence, a shiver shot up Jo’s spine.
Ian quickly told the agents about the treasure and Thane’s treachery.
“He left Toonan before we could escape and marched on Haddington with nearly a dozen men. As soon as we learned of his plan, Jo and I set out. We stopped here to rest our horses on our way to the Iron Shoe.” He turned to Ramsay.
“Ye can imagine my relief to find ye here.”
Ramsay planted his feet wide and cracked his knuckles. “We can make it to Haddington before dawn.”
“We don’t ride for Haddington. Thane would have already succeeded in taking the abbot.”
“How can ye be so certain,” Paul asked.
“Haddington has little by way of defenses, and even if some of the monks had taken up arms to defend their leader, ye ken as well as I, that Abbot Matthew would have refused their championing. He would’ve surrendered himself before any blood could be spilled.”
David nodded. “Ian’s right.”
“Thane hasn’t the courage to act alone. He needs a nobleman to stand behind. I believe he rides south to make a new deal with Baron Wharncliffe.”
Nick licked his lips, his eyes alight with bloodlust. “Then, we’ll take them on the road south into England.”
Jolts of excitement shot threw Jo as she watched the men prepare for action.
After they’d dressed and readied their horses, Ramsay, David, Nick, and Paul stood side by side.
They wore black tunics covered in black mail that glinted in the moonlight, black hose, tall black boots, and in their hands, they grasped black, hooded masks.
Ian, who also wore the Saint’s garb, stood in front of them, holding five wooden crosses, strung on simple rope. “Ramsay, ye will be Saint James the Greater, given yer the tallest man, excluding me, I’d wager this world has known for a century.”
Ian placed one of the crosses around Ramsay’s neck.
Then he moved to stand in front of David.
“Ye led us into battle at Methven. And so ye shall be Saint Michael.” After placing the cross around David’s neck, Ian shifted his gaze to Nick.
“Legend has it that Saint George slayed a dragon. Dragon fire blazes inside ye, but ye also have a valiant heart.” He slid the rope over Nick’s head.
The newly dubbed Saint George gripped the wooden cross.
“I will breathe fire tonight!” he vowed.
Ian clamped his hand on Nick’s shoulder.
Then he turned to Paul. “Ye became one of Scotland’s agents because ye wanted to see our people fed and clothed.
Ye do not seek vengeance nor glory. Ye’re Saint Martin. ”
After Ian honored Paul with his cross, Jo moved to stand at her husband’s side. “May I?” She outstretched her hand, looking pointedly at the last cross he was holding. Ian placed it in her open palm.
“Bow yer head, Saint John.” She passed the rope over his head. Then he straightened, his ardent gaze meeting hers. “Daughter of Scotland, are ye ready to ride?”
Her heart thumped in her chest. “Let us go save the Abbot! Alba gu bràth!”