Chapter Seventeen

Damn itching. The stitches where Shaw’s wound was healing itched on his arm and on his arse, and he rubbed a fist back against his hip through his kilt.

“Ye best not have given Alana anything that is going to make her arse itch,” Kerrick said low where he rode his own horse next to Shaw, Robert trotting ahead of them, and the ladies riding behind.

Shaw’s mood was foul to begin with since Alana had decided to ride with her hostile friend, Kirstin, instead of him that morning. He hadn’t been able to get close to her alone since the morning after her damn Roses showed up at their cabin. “If she itches from a healing musket or stab wound, then I did not do my duty to protect her and deserve whatever punishment ye think ye could deliver, Campbell.”

The cut on Alana’s forehead was healing well, Kirstin and the other Roses all washing and caring for the scabs. She would likely carry a scar, showing the world that he hadn’t saved her from the Englishman’s musket. He’d add the guilt to the boulder of remorse he carried. For his uncle’s betrayal in gambling away their home, cold and poverty, and what seemed to press on Shaw more each day…the remorse and guilt in doing whatever it took to regain what was lost.

“The ferry was quicker than I thought,” Kerrick said, apparently able to think of something other than hating Shaw. He didn’t care what the man thought of him, having learned long ago to ignore scorn. “We should be at St. Andrews by nightfall.”

And then what? He would find his men and the bairn, her wee toe branded with a rose. Alana was right. Who would brand a newborn bairn? It could have become tainted and killed her.

Moving about and living in various empty cottages, caves, and the occasional vacant house, the Sinclairs had learned how to signal that they were inside a building. But where should he take his suddenly large group of lasses? They were sure to stand out in the town.

“Ye will take the women to find lodging,” Shaw said to Kerrick. “I will find my men and the bairn. On the morrow when it is light, we will find the ship to take the princess.” And then the wee one would travel with strangers to a foreign land. Alana’s worries pressed on him, worries about love and kindness bestowed upon a girl heir to the English throne. Rose might not find much of either in France.

He exhaled long, his fists squeezing tight with Rìgh’s reins in his hands. Not his concern. His priority was making sure that Clan Sinclair was noted for fulfilling their mission to bring the princess safely to St. Andrews. In exchange he was promised documents granting the northern territory of Scotland and Girnigoe Castle back to the Sinclairs, namely to him, Chief Shaw Sinclair, who would win back the title of the seventh Sinclair, Earl of Caithness. Not that the title mattered to him at all, only the land to farm and the homes and pride of his people.

Whatever it takes. I will see it done.

…

The sun was dropping fast, and Shaw yearned to ride ahead to find his men before all the daylight had vanished. He raised his fist straight into the air, a silent signal to stop, for he caught the smell of smoke ahead. Hearth fires meant the town was near.

The Roses formed a semicircle around him. Alana gave a whistle, and Robert stopped, trotting back. She rode behind Kirstin and leaned around her friend to look at him.

Shaw’s gaze connected with hers but then scanned across the group. “Ye ladies will find lodging in St. Andrews with Kerrick. There should be some place for travelers since St. Andrews is a modest port town.”

“Where will you go?” Alana asked.

“To find my men.”

“And Rose,” she said, frowning. “I will go with you.”

He shook his head. “It is safer for ye to remain—”

“I am going to find little Rose,” Alana said, interrupting as she swung down off Kirstin’s horse. “Kerrick, you are responsible for keeping the Roses safe.”

“Ye had to name the bairn Rose?” Kerrick said, shaking his head. “Anything to make things more difficult.”

Alana strode over to Rìgh, determination in the quickness of her step. She reached up to the saddle horn, throwing back her skirt to step on Shaw’s boot already in the stirrup. Did she worry he wouldn’t let her ride with him? The thought was ludicrous, but the silence between them for nearly two days had created a distance.

Perhaps the space was best. That was what he told himself until her warm body settled before him in the saddle, as if she were built to ride in the hollow of his chest. His arms came up on either side of her, and he felt…whole again.

“Let us ride,” Alana said.

“The dog will follow if ye come with me,” Shaw said and felt her stiffen slightly.

“Robert will be of use if we are attacked.”

Or the dog could draw attention to them, although if Dixon was looking for them, he wouldn’t expect a huge wolfhound. And there was no arguing with Alana anyway. Truth be told, the thought of her pulling away from him to climb back with Kirstin made his arms tighten instinctively around her, and he frowned over his reaction. He’d never wanted the company of a lass for more than a night or two. There’d been little time to think about anything lasting longer. What, then, was different about Alana Campbell?

With a brush of his heel, Rìgh turned southeast to splash through a narrow stream. “We will meet at the abandoned castle on the coast by sunset tomorrow,” Shaw called back over his shoulder. He didn’t wait for a reply. If Kerrick had been able to track them until they met up with the dog, he’d certainly be able to find them in St. Andrews. Shaw also wanted to get away from the group before someone else decided that they needed to come along.

Rìgh climbed easily up the low bank and walked swiftly through the trees. The dog weaved his own path, keeping up with his mistress. They moved in the direction that St. Andrews should sit, the tinge of hearth smoke on the breeze. Alana kept her face forward, and he couldn’t shake the instinct that in the course of two days with her clan, she’d come to believe the lies about the Sinclairs. He inhaled deeply and realized his folly as her light fragrance filled his breath. Damn flowers. He both wanted to rub his face in her glorious hair and pull far enough away that he wouldn’t be reminded of it.

“Kirstin said that when the Campbell warriors brought the body of my father back from Stirling, there were Sinclairs at the battle,” Alana said, her words coming abruptly as if her mind was working through information, spitting it out to see how he would respond.

“Aye,” Shaw said. “I told ye that we went down to speak with the Campbells of Breadalbane. We wanted help against the Campbells who had invaded us.”

“Legally to pay a debt.”

The old anger tightened in his gut. “There is a difference between moving onto land and into a castle and chasing down a clan, killing and starving them in hopes that they would die out.”

He heard her sigh, and she twisted to look up at him. “Yes, there is.” The space around her eyes tightened, her brows lowering, and he looked away. He would meet anger and slander with a steely gaze but not pity. “What is it like there?” she asked. “Having to keep your people ahead of the Campbell chief?”

Edgar Campbell was the devil himself, always holding up the writ of sale before ordering his men to drive the Sinclairs off their own lands as if they were a plague or lepers. “We are always ready to move to another location. We build cabins quickly with stone, logs, and mud, anything to give shelter against the weather, but then Edgar Campbell sends his men to throw us off, saying that the land beneath the shelters belongs to Campbells, and therefore we must leave, even in the icy winter. Children, women, the old. They flee if my men and I are not there to defend them with force.” A young, pale face swam up out of his memory for an instant before he shoved it away. Do not forget Reagan. He would always remember her, but sometimes he needed to rest away from the pain.

She turned front again, and he felt her melt more into his chest. “And some die?” she asked, her words soft.

“Aye.” It was already November. Och. “My people at least need to keep their shelters through the winter.”

“Have you considered moving the clan south?” she asked.

“Aye, but they are not in favor of giving up land that has always belonged to Sinclairs.” He snorted. “If ye had not noticed, we are a stubborn lot, especially those who remember the strength of the mighty Sinclairs and the legends around the masters of the horse from long ago.”

“I think stubbornness is in the blood that runs through all Highlanders,” she said. She shook her head, and he watched the setting sun glint off a few gold strands. “We need to either get the Campbell Chief to give up the lands and castle or convince your people that it is best to move farther south.”

“They will not move,” he said, because they could not move the graves of their fallen. “Any move would require war with another clan, and we haven’t the men and strength of horse for a successful campaign now.”

“Have you saved much to repay your uncle’s debt?” she asked.

He exhaled long. “Money is harder to come by than bread. I have a portion but not enough, but if I am successful at this mission, I have been promised the lands and castle for the Sinclair clan.”

She turned again to him. “King James will likely not pay the Campbells for the debt. He will just evict them from the land and castle.”

“So be it,” Shaw said. “Retribution for the lives their harassment has taken.”

“What a mess,” she murmured.

Everything had been very clear-cut to Shaw before he met Alana. All Campbells were devils, and he would do anything to see them conquered and the Sinclair lands restored. But what he’d learned over the last few days was that not all Campbells deserved the pit of Hell like Edgar Campbell. Especially not the warm woman in his arms, the smell of flowers still a hint in her hair after washing in the cabin two days ago.

“Alana.” He paused.

“Yes?”

He breathed deeply. “I must do everything, everything in my power as a chief, as a Sinclair warrior, and as a man to win back the land of my people. Everything.”

She gave a small nod as she stared out over Rìgh’s head.

Their time together would end as soon as he helped her find her mother and returned them to Finlarig. He would stay with her to make certain she wasn’t with his child. His chest tightened at the thought. What would happen between their clans if they had a bairn together? One with Campbell and Sinclair blood coursing through it? The child would be strong and beautiful, clever, kind, and willing to bend. For the future required some bending, some shades of gray when before there had only been black and white and brittle stubbornness. Something close to hope sparked into Shaw’s stomach.

He pulled back on the reins for Rìgh to stop for a moment. For this truth, he wanted to touch her. She turned his way in question, and he lifted his hand to slide across her cheek. “If ye are with my child…” Her eyes opened wider, but she didn’t say anything. “If ye are with my child, I will not abandon the two of ye. I have no land or home right now but know that I will do what I can to make the both of ye safe.”

She blinked, a smile growing on her soft lips. “Thank you, Shaw.” She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. His world blurred, and his blood rushed forward. He pressed her closer into him, holding her until she finally turned backward in the saddle to face him, their arms going around each other as their mouths began to move hungrily against each other.

“I wish…” She breathed against him, still kissing. “We had more time in the cottage. Alone.”

“Good lord, aye,” he said. The rest of the world was a mess, but the one thing he knew, the fact that crashed through him like a battering ram, was that he wanted Alana, bairn or no bairn. He wanted her. “I am yours,” he whispered against her and captured her face in his rough hands. He broke the kiss enough for them to stare into each other’s eyes. “I am yours, Alana Campbell. Whatever happens from here on out, whether we continue or end this bloody war with your clan, know that I am yours.”

She blinked. Her eyes glistened slightly, and she nodded in the confines of his grasp before leaning back into his lips. They kissed for another long moment and broke apart to rest their foreheads against each other.

“I will do whatever I can to help you,” she whispered. “You and your clan.”

He nodded against her. “Then help me take the bairn to meet the ship to France.”

She exhaled, and he felt her breath against his lips. She nodded. “We should go, then.”

He helped her turn back around in the saddle, pressing his face against her hair, inhaling the pure smell that he knew was Alana. For riding into St. Andrews, he felt the threat of change. Before they rode into Edinburgh, he would tell her everything, the ugly truths that haunted him. He would see her safely to Finlarig, but he would likely never have the chance to press his face into her fragrant waves again.

…

I am yours. What did that mean? It sounded like an oath. Said before God and witnesses, it was an oath for marriage. I am yours. The words infused a warmth through Alana. He hadn’t said “You are mine” as if she didn’t have a say in it. He didn’t ask for anything in return, just wanted her to know that somehow she’d won his…his what? Loyalty? Love?

The thought flipped through her stomach, making her heart beat faster. If he loved her, did she love him in return? She nearly turned in the seat again to demand he answer her questions, but they rode out of the woods and down between some buildings that marked the edge of St. Andrews.

She felt his breath at her ear, the brush of his lips sending a thrill through her. “Look at each window we pass for sign of my men. A strap of leather, usually a bridle, trapped in the window pane.”

“Do you use that when you are hiding from Campbells on your land?”

“Aye.” He straightened away from her, and she nearly leaned back into his warmth again, feeling cold without his lips touching her. When had his touch become something she craved all the time?

The street was cobbled with flat rocks, and Rìgh’s hooves clopped along them. Robert remained right alongside and garnered his share of glances. Luckily word of a couple riding into town with a large dog wouldn’t catch Major Dixon’s attention. Hopefully he had given up when he lost their trail and turned west like Fiona had told him that they’d gone.

With the sun sinking behind the two-story structures lining the main thoroughfare, the people along the street hurried by without giving them much notice. Several vendors of puddings and rolls pushed their carts. “Hold Rìgh,” Shaw said, dismounting to purchase a few meat pasties, baked turnips, and sweets. He strode back over, putting their food in her satchel tied to the back of the saddle. He climbed up from the wrong side.

“I should check your stitches,” she said, although he didn’t grimace at all.

“They are healing and itching,” he said and leaned to whisper along the side of her face. “And I bought some tarts. The crone had honey ones.”

She twisted in the seat to smile at him. “You can try one, then.”

“Aye, I will try one.”

“And you will see what you have been missing and find the crone again and buy her whole cart.”

He chuckled and took the reins.

“Come, Robert,” she said, and they continued along the wide street. Looking down the side streets, she saw other wide streets beyond the rows of houses and shops. “St. Andrews is large.”

“I have been here once on my way to Edinburgh to petition for the lands. There is a fair amount of trade here, but it is not as grand as Edinburgh with its mighty castle.”

The mention of the huge edifice that they would face to find her mother washed away her smile. Lord, how would they free her if their petitions for her release were ignored or denied?

They continued down the street slower than when they rode through the forest, both of them searching for any sign of Shaw’s men. Several horses were tied outside a lodging house. “That is Rainy, my mare,” she said, tugging on his sleeve.

He continued past, turning Rìgh down the side street that flanked the structure. “There,” he said, and Alana saw the edge of a bridle sticking out of a window on the second story.

“Rose,” she whispered, feeling the tightness of missing the little baby in her chest. How could one become so fond of a babe so quickly? Especially when it wasn’t her own? Or a man so quickly?

A squat barn stood out back with several lads stationed out front of it. One jumped up as Shaw dismounted. “Can ye watch my horse?”

“Aye, for a shilling,” the boy said.

Shaw’s hands fit snuggly around her waist as he lowered her down from the tall horse. Even through her stays, she could feel the pressure of his hands on her. Lord how she wished that they could have even one more night alone together.

Robert came alongside, dipping his massive head so that her hand would rest upon it. They walked together to the front of the establishment. “Stay, Robert,” she said, using her palm-out hand signal to get him to sit by the front door. He obeyed so she wouldn’t have to tie him. Thank goodness. His largeness wouldn’t allow him to be taken by anyone, and he’d shown he preferred to stay near her. He wouldn’t wander off unless a child walked by with a sweet.

The murmur of voices spilled into the growing night as Shaw opened the door for her. A quick scan showed no red uniforms. She released the breath she’d been holding. There was a mix of people eating, drinking, and talking. Mostly men, but there were a couple of women sitting near the steps leading upward. They each held a baby, cradling them in their arms. Mothers, their husbands probably amongst the men in the common room.

Shaw made his way to the innkeeper at the long bar and then came back to Alana. “I managed to rent a bed in a shared room above.”

“A shared room?”

“Aye, ’tis common in busy towns. I will order Alistair and Mungo to sleep there while we stay with Rose.”

“The other Roses will have to find another lodging, then, if that was the only bed.”

“There are several places in a town this size, especially with sailors coming into the port to trade,” he said, escorting her to the steps.

She nodded to the two mothers. One of them nodded back with a curious gaze, her face young and her shoulders straight. The other frowned, exhaustion seeming to pull at her features. The wooden steps creaked under their weight and were tilted to one side. Shaw’s boots thumped upon them as he led the way, holding her hand. He stopped at the top and pulled her up next to him. He pointed to a door at the far end and drew his short sword, so Alana drew the sgian dubh he’d given her when Dixon’s men nearly found them in the forest.

Knock, knock, pause…knock. Another signal they used?

A moment later there was a knock from inside, just one.

Shaw gave one back quickly, and the door flew inward. “Shaw!” Rabbie ushered them inside a small room with two double-sized beds, one against each wall. “Ye found us.”

“Ye were delayed,” Alistair said.

“Dixon almost stumbled upon us,” Shaw said. “We had to go north and then cross by way of a ferry.”

Logan lifted the window to pull the bridle inside. “There is a problem,” he said.

“Where’s Rose?” Alana asked, and Mungo held up a wrapped bundle. She hurried over to peer into the sleeping face of the wee babe. “She is well?” She met Mungo’s gaze over the sweet cherub face. He nodded, though his face looked pinched. She turned to the other Sinclairs. All of them looked tense. Even Rabbie’s initial smile had faded.

“What problem?” Shaw asked, shutting the door behind him. The room was full of large warriors, all standing stone still. Only the sound of the patrons below could be heard.

Alana took Rose from Mungo’s arms, nestling her head against the inside of her elbow to rock her gently like a cradle.

“We arrived early yesterday,” Alistair said, coming over, his gaze on Alana before turning to meet Shaw’s fierce stare. His bruises were still stark, but the white of his eye had begun to clear.

“The problem,” Shaw said, his voice demanding.

Logan cleared his throat. “We were not the first ones to arrive.”

“What the hell are ye talking about?” Shaw asked, coming over to nudge the blanket down that had risen up to cover the babe’s little nub of a chin. He turned back to the men who all stood still.

“There are two other bairns,” Alistair said. “With wet nurses.”

Shock caught Alana’s tongue and breath for a moment. She swallowed. “The women below?”

Alistair nodded. “Aye. I talked to their escorts yesterday. They were tasked to bring the bairns from London to St. Andrews to go to France.”

Shaw stood silent, waiting for him to finish even though a look of anger mixed with shock on his face.

“Alistair,” Alana said. “Who are they?”

The Sinclair warrior kept his gaze directly on Shaw, meeting his look. “They each say…their bairns are Queen Mary’s daughters, each a princess to be ferried to France for safekeeping.”