Chapter Nineteen

“She is fed, clean, and wrapped warmly,” Alana said, lifting Rose against her shoulder. The room was filled with Sinclairs, except for the one she wanted. Alistair sat on her bed, his head heavy in his hands, apparently having survived the night. Shaw had left earlier to locate Kerrick and the Highland Rose students. He’d given Alana time to wash and say goodbye to baby Rose in private. Although, no amount of time would be enough.

Shaw had told her what the English colonel and the French captain had said at the docks the night before. Her plan to keep Rose looked rather hopeless. Perhaps the princess would be just fine, living like royalty in France. She kissed the sweet infant’s forehead, her big blue eyes staring up at her. Her eyelashes seemed to have unfurled overnight.

“I have packed her two bottles and some fresh milk and pap made up,” Rabbie said. “Extra warm blankets and enough cloths to keep all three bairns clean. But we need to talk with the wet nurse to make sure she will be able to feed Rose after the milk runs out.”

She knew all this, but Rabbie seemed to need to say it again. She nodded, giving him an understanding smile. “Let us go find her.”

They filed out of the room, Alistair rising slowly to walk to the door while she gathered Rose’s blanket better around her. He turned in the doorway, blocking her. “Did ye ask Shaw about Stirling?” he said, his voice low.

Alana hadn’t let Shaw talk about anything last night. Only whispered encouragement and soft moans of pleasure hovered in the heated darkness around them. Both of them had clung to each other with desperation, exploring and tasting as if committing each other to memory. On the surface, it looked quite possible for them to remain together after rescuing her mother from Edinburgh, but Alana’s instincts, tangled up with Alistair’s cryptic questions, nurtured dread within her. Only the fire between Shaw and her last night had kept the worry away.

“He came in late and left early this morn,” she said. “There was no time to discuss.” She studied the man who said he was Shaw’s friend. He looked haggard, his eyes red and face still heavy with the sleeping drug. “Why don’t you tell me about the battle near Stirling? I know it is his tale to tell, but you seem quite anxious for it to be out.” Maybe if she knew a few of the details, whatever Shaw told her wouldn’t seem so troublesome. For despite them agreeing to put off their worries until later that day, she could tell something weighed heavily upon him.

Alistair looked over his shoulder where the other Sinclairs had descended into the common room and then back at Alana. “We have met Major Dixon before. He was at the battle outside Stirling, following King Charles’s orders to squash out the rebel Covenanters.”

“Is that why the major was so suspicious of us with Rose?” she asked.

“Likely,” he said, his gaze shifting behind him as if he was afraid to be overheard.

“And yet, Major Dixon wants to kill the princess? He switched loyalties, then?”

Alistair nodded. “He was loyal to King Charles, not his brother, King James, who sits on the throne now. Many military and political players hope for James’s daughter, Mary, to come quickly to power with her husband William, both of them staunch Protestants.”

“King James is Catholic,” she said, understanding. “Whereas his brother Charles was not openly so.”

Alistair shifted from foot to foot.

“And why are you telling me this?” she asked. “While looking nervous and worried about being overheard?” Rose began to fuss, and Alana began to sway.

Alistair stopped shifting, his face pinched. He opened his mouth and then closed it before finally speaking. “We had made a bargain before at the battle, well, Shaw did, made a bargain that is, to save our lands and castle from Edgar Campbell.”

“Alistair, what is taken ye so long?” Logan’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

“Nothing,” Alistair answered. “The bairn was fussing.”

With one last look at Alistair, Alana turned to bring Rose downstairs, her mind repeating his words. Shaw had made a bargain to help his clan. With whom? Her father but then he was killed?

The common room was full of her friends and Shaw’s men. Kerrick and Kirstin kept their frowns as they stared at the Sinclairs. Cici smiled at Logan, Martha smiled at Rabbie, and Izzy tipped her head while watching Mungo make hand signals to Logan. For a room so full, the only sound was the innkeeper wiping the bar down, his eyes wide.

“The bairn,” Kirstin said, weaving between the tables in her skirt to Alana. Her frown faded as she peered down into the babe’s sweet face. “So pretty,” Kirstin whispered. “Pink cheeks, blue eyes, the cutest little nose.” Kirstin looked at Alana. “If her eyes turn green, she will look like ye.”

Her words were kind, but they twisted inside Alana. She managed a sad smile. “I would miss her that much more.”

Kirstin leaned toward her ear. “If she is a princess, maybe we should keep her.”

Alana stared numbly at her. “I fear that is a hopeless notion. If we keep her, the Sinclairs fail to retrieve their lands and castle.”

Kirstin met her gaze with an unblinking one. “Something we care nothing about. If anything, we want the lands and Girnigoe to stay in Campbell hands.”

“You do not understand what they have been through these past nine years,” Alana said, shaking her head and raising her gaze to the large warriors who stood near the door. “The Sinclairs should get it all back, their lands, castle, and honor. I wonder if my father would have agreed if he were still alive. He did stop helping Edgar after the first push to take the castle.”

Kirstin said something back, but Alana didn’t pick up the words. Her eyes had gone to the door where Shaw walked in, surveying the room as if it were a battlefield. She supposed that it had the potential to be one.

“It seems St. Andrews is overflowing with Campbell lasses,” Alistair said to Shaw.

“And MacInneses,” Cici said.

“I am a MacPherson, to be exact,” Kirstin said.

“And I am a Kellington from London,” Lucy said. “And Kerrick is definitely not a lass.”

Robert ran in past Shaw’s legs and trotted from person to person, his powerful tail swatting skirts and thumping table legs. He didn’t care who was a Campbell, Sinclair, English, or Scot. Alana sighed, wishing that the world ran according to canines.

“These are the students from the Highland Roses school and their escort,” Shaw said.

“A large group will draw eyes,” Logan said, looking sideways at Cici, who had sidled up next to him as if she’d been there the whole time.

“We will stay back from your dealings,” Kerrick said. “I am here to make certain Alana gets safely to Edinburgh, where we will free her mother.” His gaze slid to Shaw. “After today, ye can return to your lands. Violet Campbell is our responsibility.”

Alana’s stomach tightened. “No. Shaw said that he would help me. ’Tis why I went along easily with them. It was an exchange.” She hugged Rose closer, inhaling her sweet baby scent. Could she stand losing both Rose and Shaw on the same day?

Shaw walked across to her, his gaze going from the babe to Alana’s eyes. She smiled sadly. “Did you notice,” she said, “Rose’s eyelashes have unfurled. Look how long and perfect they are.” He bent over the babe, peering in her face. Rose blinked as Shaw laid his hand over the wee one’s chest. Her little hand lifted, and thin fingers wrapped around Shaw’s thumb. He made a sound in the back of his throat. “She has a strong grip. A warrior to be sure.”

Kirstin came close. “Aye, look how tightly she squeezes.”

Alana’s gaze was fastened on Shaw’s waves of dark hair, so she met his gaze when he lifted his face. “It is as if she wants to hold on and not let go,” Alana whispered.

The gentle look on Shaw’s face hardened, and he slowly pulled his thumb from the babe’s grip. “We need to go. I can take the bairn down to the docks.”

“I will carry her,” Alana said. “We need to talk to the wet nurse to make certain she knows that she is responsible for Rose.”

“Aye,” Rabbie said, jumping forward to go with them.

“Kerrick, keep the Highland Roses back here and be ready to ride once we are back,” Alana said, her voice strong even though her legs wobbled.

“We will gather some supplies,” Kerrick said. “Although we should make Edinburgh by nightfall if we leave right away.”

Alana walked out into the brisk, fall morning. The tang of low tide made her sniff, her nose wrinkling. She tucked Rose’s little hand back into the blanket and hurried beside Shaw and Rabbie toward the docks, their steps rapid. Logan, Alistair, and Mungo followed behind, no doubt watching for anything suspicious. Robert, loving the interesting smells, trotted along, his nose bobbing between the pebble-packed road and the breeze off the water.

Shaw’s arm brushed Alana’s as they walked. “I will still help ye free your mother,” he said. “And escort ye back to Killin in Breadalbane.”

She glanced up at him. “Are you certain? Do you not need to get home with your royal papers to make Edgar quit your castle?”

She felt his tug on her arm and looked up as he slowed his pace. His eyes seemed to search hers. “I would know before I leave if ye are with child,” he whispered. “I will not abandon my bairn or the mother of him or her.”

Her heart squeezed, and she managed a nod. Shaw caught under her elbow, steadying her as they resumed their pace. Her gaze fell on a man standing before a storefront, his eyes following them. Alana made her gaze turn forward as if she hadn’t noticed him. The press in her heart changed to a wild thumping. “That man by the milliner is one of Dixon’s soldiers,” she said, her voice low.

Shaw didn’t change his stride but turned them down one of the narrow, vacant streets.

“What is it?” Rabbie asked, the other Sinclairs coming up behind him.

“Dixon is about. Alana saw one of his men.”

“Yet he hasn’t tried to stop the French ship?” she asked.

“The commander who has our papers outranks him. Dixon likely wants to kill the bairn before she gets on the ship,” Alistair said, his gaze going between them.

Alana hugged Rose closer, as if her love and body could shelter her from musket balls.

“Shaw,” Alistair said, drawing out his name. “Ye don’t think the bastard has been tricking us from the start, setting up Clan Sinclair to be the murderers of the king’s infant bairn?”

“From the start?” she asked. “From the battle at Stirling? Has he been chasing you since then?”

Shaw’s gaze snapped to her, but then it turned on his friend with a deep, seething fury spreading across his face. “What the bloody hell have ye been talking to Alana about?”

“Shaw,” Logan called from the corner of the street. “There are more English.” He jogged back toward them. “They are not dressed in their reds, though. Common clothes.”

“If they get the bairn before we deliver her to the ship, Dixon will blame us for her death,” Alistair said, grabbing Shaw’s arm. “All we have to do is get the bairn to the French captain. Then we will have done our part to help the king. Take the document with the royal seal, and we will have our lands back.”

Shaw’s hands curled into tight fists. Alistair let go and took a step toward Alana, his arms out. “I will take the bairn. Dixon will be looking for the two of ye.”

“Nay,” Shaw said, shoving him back. “We will take the bairn.”

“Shite,” Alistair said, righting himself. He threw his arm out. “Then go. We will guard your backs.”

Alana hugged Rose and strode quickly away down the narrow street with Shaw, the others behind them moving slower, keeping watch.

“What is going on between you two?” Alana asked.

“Later,” Shaw answered, his gaze surveying the buildings as they passed as if someone might fire down upon them with muskets.

Alana angled closer to one side, under the eaves, so she only had to look up at one set of windows. The street sloped down toward the bay. Her legs moved fast in her trousers, hitting her skirt with her long, urgent strides. Her heart thudded with worry and the race as she held the baby against her. Robert followed, his tail down as if he could tell something sinister was afoot. A low growl grumbled up from his chest.

Alana wanted to demand to know everything, the questions and odd glances between him and Alistair reaching a tipping point. Last night she’d wanted to hide in the dark warmth of ignorance, but not now. Now, she needed to be the leader of the Highland Roses and do whatever she could to keep the babe safe.

Rounding a corner, Shaw gripped her arm to lead her down another short path to the water. Dock workers heaved barrels and pallets, hooking them up to thick hooks to lift onto their ships. Their voices were brusque, peppered with crass curses. An occasional bark of laughter mixed with the caws from the seabirds, and the wooden planks squeaked as the water shifted beneath.

They ducked out from the buildings to hurry across the narrow dock. But instead of stopping there, Shaw ushered her toward the rocky ruins of what could only be St. Andrews Castle way at the far end and up a short grassy knoll. As they neared, Alana saw one of the hired wet nurses from the common room, the younger woman who said her name was Bess. Bess held her charge and talked with a man in military dress in the shadows before the stone walls of the main keep. Off to the side, two men crept closer to them. Dixon’s men.

“Mo chreach,” Shaw cursed, and they broke into a run toward the castle, Alana cradling Rose’s little head against her. “Traitors at arms,” Shaw called out, and Bess jumped, pulling away from the man in red dress to disappear into the castle grounds while the man drew his sword.

With the baby before her, Alana couldn’t fight, but she could protect. Her hair stick was in her hair, and she wore the sgian dubh in her boot beneath her skirt. “I will hide in the castle,” she said to Shaw as they neared.

He drew his sword. “Keep Robert with ye.”

“Come,” Alana said, patting her leg to get the large wolfhound to follow her as she broke into a run toward the interior of the castle. Time and weather had broken through the main wall, and she hopped over it instead of seeking a door. Where had Bess gone? They should stay together.

She stuck close to the wall, hearing the clash of swords and curses from the men behind her. As she ran into the exposed courtyard she stopped, her eyes riveted on another woman standing opposite Bess and the baby. The other woman had a blade in her hand.

Breath frozen, Alana took several seconds before her mind could find the word. “Màthair?” For there in the ruins of St. Andrews Castle, standing with determination and what seemed like vigorous health, was Violet Campbell. Hair long and dark and worn in her usual braid, Violet whipped around, confusion and shock in the lines of her face. Robert went prancing into the center, sniffing at her mother’s shoes. He hadn’t been born before she left Finlarig.

“Alana? What are ye doing here?” she asked, her eyes locking onto her face. She shied away from the huge dog, and Bess ran toward the far side of the ruins, disappearing inside the half-deteriorated walls.

“Màthair,” Alana cried out again as emotion tumbled inside her. To see her mother strong and alive. “You have sight,” she said, running toward her.

She grabbed her mother to her with one hand, still holding Rose between them. Her mother was stiff, breaking the awkward hug to touch Alana’s face. “Why are ye here?” Violet asked, her gaze dropping to Rose in her arms.

“I was on my way to save you in Edinburgh,” she said. “I only just found out that you were there, that you were even alive. We thought you dead when they brought Da’s body home. Grey is the chief now. He is married and has his own son and daughter.”

Her mother’s eyes swelled with tears. She blinked and one fell out to cut a path down her cheek. “Ye should not be here, Alana. ’Tis dangerous.”

“Why are you not in Edinburgh?” she asked, her hand resting on top of Robert’s head as he came to sit next to her. “Did you escape on your own?”

Violet looked over her shoulder toward the main part of the ruins. “I am still earning my freedom.”

“And you are not blind? A man told me at the Samhain Festival that you were alive but blind, and I came right away. Grey does not even know yet. Kerrick sent word.”

Violet turned back, her face pinched. “No one cares what a blind woman is up to. It was easy enough to act after one of my fevers that first winter.”

Lord, what had she gone through over the last two years? Alana’s stomach clenched with guilt.

Her mother’s gaze shifted to Rose. “Is that one of the three babes James is sneaking away to France?”

Alana’s mind went blank for several seconds. Instinct to protect made her twist away as her mother grabbed for Rose. “What are you doing?” she gasped as Major Dixon, wearing hose and short trousers, jogged into the courtyard from the side facing the sea. She tucked Rose against her and felt the babe squirm. Robert stood, growling low. “We need to go,” she said to her mother. “He wants to kill her.”

“Give it to me,” her mother repeated.

“Màthair, we need to run.” Alana’s face turned back and forth between Dixon and her mother. She swallowed over the hard thud of her heart and wrapped both of her arms around Rose, sheltering her with her body. Her mother reached out and grabbed her arm, anchoring her there in the beaten grass.

“What are you doing?” Alana asked as the weight of horror dropped down upon her.

“I am freeing myself,” her mother said, her words spitting from her clenched teeth. “Now give it to me.” The silver edge of a sgian dubh slid free of her mother’s skirt, and she held the dagger, her knuckles turning white with the force. “The babe must die.”