Page 34 of The Beast of the Highlands
Willis dipped his head. “Sorry, Miss Montgomery. I dinnae mean anythin’ against ye. But ye’re a Northumberland lass, so ye daenae count as a proper Sassenach.”
“I am grateful you think so, but why would the English come from the west?” Autumn’s mind turned fretfully toward thoughts of Orwell. Surely, he would not be part of an attack in Scotland, least of all upon MacLennan Castle.
He always said there was no use in battling the Scots, for there is nothing to be gained except dead men.
The third soldier, bizarrely nicknamed Natters, gave a shrug. “They come from all over, when ye least expect ‘em. We’ve been fendin’ off English ambushes since ye were a bairn.” He shifted in the saddle. “There have been more of ‘em in recent years. Just when we think we’ve got peace, they strike… and they daenae care who they kill before they run off again. But we fight back. It’s in our blood.”
“I… I am sorry,” Autumn murmured, her loyalty torn. For the first time in her life, she felt a flicker of shame for being English. Especially as her brother was a captain in the very army who gave these orders to ambush innocents.
Desmond reached out and patted her gently on the arm. “It isnae yer fault, lass. Like Willis said, ye’re a Northumberland lass, so we daenae think of ye as a Sassenach.”
“Aye, and we’ve been fightin’ each other so long we probably wouldnae ken what to do if therewaspeace,” Natters interjected. “I just wish lads would keep it among lads. There isnae a reason for lasses and bairns to get hurt.”
Autumn chewed the inside of her cheek, remembering Leighton’s desire to do nothing but learn to fight. “It is like a terrible inheritance. Sons likely see their family hurt or killed and go on to pick up a sword against the next generation of enemies, while no one can remember the initial quarrel. And when they pass, the cycle continues.”
“I couldnae have put it better.” Willis seemed impressed by her comment.
Feeling a rush of determination, Autumn clicked her tongue and spurred Seashell into a gallop. “We should not delay!” she tossed back over her shoulder, as her three escorts followed her lead.
For if my brotheristhere, maybe I can prevent bloodshed… just once.
Though it was her brother and her love’s blood she feared being shed, above all. Her situation was difficult enough, without having to bear the thought of the two men she adored the most raising their swords against one another. And if one should kill the other, not knowing each other’s relation to Autumn… It would eviscerate her.
22
“Is the torch aflame?” Autumn peered up at the battlements of MacLennan Castle, from the edge of the forest. They had ridden hard and ridden fast, and though Autumn’s legs ached and her back cramped, all those pains would vanish once she was back in Flynn’s arms.
Desmond frowned, wielding a lit torch of his own. “I cannae see it.”
“Do you see enemy soldiers?” she pressed.
“Nay, but everythin’ seems too calm. There are lads wanderin’ up and down the battlements, but they daenae seem worried.” Desmond sighed. “Either the battle is over, or it hasnae begun.”
Willis cleared his throat. “Or the scout was mistaken. Could’ve been a clan passin’ through.”
“Aye, could’ve been,” Desmond conceded.
At that moment, Autumn heard the sound of footsteps approaching. They were heavy, like their owner was trudging across the hard ground toward them. Frantically, she tried to make out a shadow in the darkness, but it was like trying to find a blade of grass in a haystack.
Her escort drew their swords in unison, the glinting tips pointing toward the sound.
“Who goes there?” Desmond hissed into the evening gloom.
“Yer Laird,” Flynn’s unmistakable voice replied.
The escort immediately stowed their swords away.
“Why are ye comin’ out to us?” Desmond asked, peering into the darkness as Flynn finally appeared, his face illuminated by Desmond’s torch. “I thought ye were goin’ to signal.”
Autumn willed her beloved to look at her, but his head hung low, his shoulders slumped as though he had suffered a great defeat. He did not even look up to meet the eyes of his man-at-arms.
“The plan changed,” Flynn said.
Apparently noticing his Laird’s odd behavior too, Desmond canted his head. “What’s wrong, M’Laird? Was there a battle? Did we lose? Did the scout mistake what he saw—was there nay an enemy comin’?”
Flynn snorted bitterly. “Och, there was an enemy, but it wasnae one I was expectin’.” He patted the side of Desmond’s horse’s neck, his voice turning somber. “Take Seashell into the stables, and daenae tell anyone ye brought Autumn back. I’m goin’ to take her through the tunnels.”
Willis and Natters exchanged a look, but Desmond did not seem surprised. “Is it what I think it is?”
