When Christina opened her eyes, it was still dark. As usual when she traveled with her retinue, she slept beneath the wagon covered by a tarpaulin. So many things warred through her mind, sleep had been slow to come. She’d heard the guard change a few times and slept some, but still, she worried.
Holy saints, they were so much safer behind Ormond Castle’s walls. As soon as she’d left the fortress, something awful had happened. De Vere knew she and Andrew would be traveling to Stirling. He even knew that King Robert had given her a year to turn the boy into a Highlander. That meant there must be spies at even the highest levels of the kingdom. Did she have a spy in Avoch? If so, who could it be?
Nothing bad had happened since she’d gone home. Lachlan had even taken Andrew into the mountains without attack. Had anyone at that time been aware that Andrew was not behind Ormond Castle’s bailey, they would have attacked, God forbid. Indeed, with only the two of them, the pilgrimage would have been an ideal time to kidnap the lad. Something must have changed over the course of the summer. Did Boyd’s visit tip the earl off? Though she trusted Sir Boyd, his movements around Scotland would be news everywhere he went. How long had de Vere been in Inverness and how determined was the earl to place his hands on her son and her land?
The man would risk his life. King Edward must be offering an enticing reward for certain. Why did Lachlan not run his blade across the blackguard’s throat when he had the chance? I do love that man, but he is far too generous. His benevolence borders on heedlessness.
Christina rolled to her back and pressed her hands over her eyes. Though she didn’t understand Lachlan all the time, for the most part she’d been overjoyed with his compassionate generosity. The first time she’d seen him, he saved her from ruination without a weapon. He used his fists and she doubted he had killed a single one of those English varlets.
But I do not agree with his leniency toward the Earl of Oxford.
She did, however, agree with his decision to take command. She had underestimated the danger they were in and Lachlan had sensed it all along.
When something rustled beyond the wagon, she sat up and parted the canvas. Dawn cast dark blue shadows over the clearing and her gaze immediately shifted to where Andrew had bedded down for the night. Her heart flew to her throat as she burst through the shroud. “Andrew!”
Before she reached the empty bedroll, the entire camp stirred to life. Lachlan dashed ahead of her, dropped to his knees and flung back the plaid. “The bed is cold.” His gaze shot around the clearing. “Everyone had a turn at guard, who saw him?”
The men stood around as if dazed, scratching their heads.
“Come on. I do not have time to interrogate you one by one. I took the first watch and he was sleeping like a bairn when I was relieved.” Lachlan pointed. “Grant, you followed me. What happened on your watch?”
“The same, sir. Andrew was there when I unrolled my blanket.”
“Oh, Jesus,” said Alexander, barely older than Andrew. “He passed me during my watch. Said he needed to take a piss.”
Christina covered her mouth with her palm, her entire body numb. “Did he return?”
“I dunna recall. The next thing I remember, Hamish shook my shoulder and said it was his turn.”
“Fuck!” Lachlan swore, batting at a tree branch. “Hamish—check for tracks. Now. Alexander, how long ago was your watch?”
“Must have been after the witching hour, but with the clouds, I couldna see the moon.”
“Jesus Christ, where’s a goddamn clock when a man needs one?” Lachlan threw up his hands. “Break camp. We ride before we eat.”
“His horse is gone,” said Hamish returning from the wood. “And the tracks are too thick to make hide nor hair of them. The only thing I can read for certain is he wasna alone.”
Christina wrung her hands. “No, Hamish. Ye’re one of the best trackers in the Highlands—ye must make out something.”
“Nay, we’re camped in the drovers’ pass.” The man-at-arms shook his head. “A herd must have gone through yesterday, ’cause the tracks are thick and muddy. Even a seer couldna read them.”
Lachlan threw his tied bedroll over his shoulder. “Can you tell anything? Where are they heading?”
“The same direction we are at the moment.”
“That’s it.” Lachlan pointed to Alexander and another of the younger men. “You two take this godforsaken wagon back to Avoch. We’re riding and we’re riding hard. Every man tie a parcel of food to his saddle. Hamish—how many miles to Stirling?”
“Over a hundred, give or take.”
“What are ye thinking?” asked Christina after she fetched an enormous leather-wrapped roll stuffed full of God knew what.
Lachlan looked her in the eye. “De Vere aims to grow richer. I’m convinced his plan all along was to use Andrew to get his hands on your lands.”
“Ye dunna think Andrew…” her voice trailed off. Surely Andrew hadn’t willfully gone with them. She cast her mind back to the alehouse. He’d sat at the bar with Douglas. But the place was packed full. Did a de Vere man slip a message to her son?
Lachlan’s face turned ashen. “He said marrying de Vere’s daughter made sense.”
Christina’s stomach sank to her toes. “I dunna believe it. By the saints, I will never believe it.”
For four days they rode hard through the drovers’ glens. Lachlan had never been so frustrated in his life. The highway, as everyone called it, was nothing more than rutted tracks pummeled by hooves and wagon wheels. Thank God he’d made the decision not to bring the wagon. With winter coming on, the cart could have slowed them down by days. They’d even weathered a snowstorm. True, he’d spent a few miserable months when fighting in Afghanistan, but that was nothing compared to the hardship of crossing the Cairngorms in December.
A muscle in his neck needled him with such an annoying knot, it felt someone had stabbed it with a sharp rock. He hadn’t had a chance to inspect his toes for frostbite, but medieval shoes had nothing on a pair of mountain climbing boots. They were thin and handmade. Every one of them could have frostbite. Bloody hell, the soles of his ankle boots were made from nothing but woven hemp. He needed a hot shower and a soft bed. So did Christina, dammit. All the while, she’d ridden along without a word of complaint, aside from her concern for her son.
How much more could she be expected to take? And honestly, Lachlan couldn’t be sure if the boy had willfully joined de Vere or if he’d been kidnapped. If he went with his gut, he’d say Andrew hadn’t jumped ship, but there had been no cries for help, no signs of struggle.
It was late afternoon when Hamish approached in the distance. During their march, the old guard had been scouting ahead for signs of horses with larger prints than the Highland garron ponies. He’d found many along the way, which meant de Vere was heading toward Stirling. What they all feared was he’d veer off course and head for the eastern seaboard—according to Hamish, the only place they could manage to do that in the middle of the mountains was after they’d crossed through the glens.
This time, the man-at-arms cantered his horse with a bit more urgency than usual. Lachlan and Christina spurred their horses and met him ahead of the retinue. “Finally, they’ve veered off the path.”
Tugging on her reins, Christina slowed her horse to a walk. “Just as ye expected.”
“Not quite.” Hamish rounded his mount between them. “I thought they’d turn and head toward Montrose, but they’re taking the shortcut to Stirling.”
“Shortcut?” Lachlan asked.
“Aye, ’tis steep with hairpin turns, but it cuts a half-day off the drovers’ path.”
Christina ran her reins through her fingers. “Why would he be heading to Stirling? He has what he wanted.”
Lachlan looked up the mountain. “Not everything. Boyd said a truce was declared upon the exchange of prisoners for Queen Elizabeth. I reckon de Vere is going in for the kill.”
“My God. Do ye think he’ll try to assassinate the king?”
“No—sorry, that was a figure of speech. The earl said himself he’s after the de Moray lands. My guess is he has a plan he thinks is foolproof.” Lachlan glanced to Hamish. “Can you take Lady Christina and the guard into Stirling?”
“Of course I can.”
“I dunna think I like the sound of that,” said the lady. “What are ye planning?”
“I aim to make sure they don’t arrive at the castle before you.”
“And Andrew?”
“He’s my number one concern.” Lachlan motioned to Grant to ride in beside him. “Look, I reckon they have someone doubling back to keep an eye on our progress. If you continue on to Stirling as planned, they’ll think we missed their diversion. I want you to ride by Lady Christina in my place. Anything happens to her and you’ll answer for it. Understood?”
“Aye, sir.”
He steered his horse near enough to grasp Christina’s hand and ply it with a kiss. “Stay the course. I’ll see you in Stirling.” Then he tipped his chin toward Hamish. “Come, show me this trail and draw me a wee map.”
The days were too bloody short this time of year and it was almost dark when Lachlan gazed down on de Vere’s camp. The earl had a relatively small retinue. Lachlan counted sixteen, but that didn’t surprise him. He hobbled his horse before slipping down the hill on foot, careful to step lightly and avoid snapping twigs.
By the time he reached them, daylight had all but gone. They mustn’t have been too concerned about attack because a bonfire raged. Blades clanged and men hollered like they were casting bets on a sparring match.
“Ye’ve been taught well,” de Vere’s deep voice boomed through the forest.
Not but fifty feet from the camp, Lachlan crouched behind a boulder and peered around. Andrew wielded his sword against the larger knight like a pro. He had been trained well, but he would be no match for a knight like de Vere, a man in his prime who had been fighting for king and country his whole life. No, Andrew wasn’t yet ready to be dubbed a knight, but he was a hell of a lot closer now than he’d been a year ago.
“What will ye trade for that horse?” de Vere asked spinning and slapping Andrew in the ass with the flat side of his blade. Now he was just toying.
Andrew leapt aside, circling his sword above his head and taking a defensive stance. “He’s mine.”
“A gift from your mother, was it?”
“Aye.”
“The shrew is trying to win ye over to her side, is she?” De Vere paced, his sword lowered.
Andrew didn’t take the bait, good lad. “Why wouldn’t my mother want to give her only son a gift?” His accent sounded a bit more English. Lachlan didn’t like that one bit.
Bellowing, de Vere swung as if he intended to cleave the boy in two.
Andrew blocked with an upward thrust, but the bigger man spun, trapping the lad in a stranglehold.
Lachlan clenched his fists. What did I teach you?
Seconds passed. The lad’s eyes were wide and he appeared to be scared.
Come on.
Lachlan rustled the brush above his head. Andrew looked. Lachlan gave a single nod before slipping back into the shadows where he wouldn’t be seen. In the next blink of an eye, Andrew used his heel to stomp on de Vere’s instep. Spinning toward the knight’s wrist, Andrew slammed his elbow into de Vere’s unprotected throat. Lachlan wanted to stand up and cheer, but settled for a fist pump.
“Bloody insolent whelp.” The knight hopped in place. “Tie him!”
Guards immediately followed orders and bound Andrew’s hands and legs.
De Vere meandered in and walloped the boy with a slap across the chops.
Bloody coward.
“When we arrive in Stirling, ye will support my cause.”
“Marry your daughter?” Andrew spat. “She’s a child.”
“She will not be a child for long.”
“And then what?”
“And then ye sit back and enjoy the spoils.” De Vere pulled his dagger and pretended to run it across Andrew’s neck. “If ye cross me I’ll slit your throat myself.”
Andrew’s lips thinned as his gaze shifted to Lachlan’s hiding place. Slightly shaking the brush, he gave a sign to let the boy know he wasn’t alone. Then he waited until the camp was asleep, crept around the perimeter and quietly released the tie line holding de Vere’s horses in a row. Several followed as he continued on his way toward Stirling without Andrew. But he had a plan.