I recalled one session where Laird Ogilvie and his highest-ranking officers had spoken of the Mackenzie men in particular. The hour had been late and the conversation loose.
“’Twas last year, in the skirmish at Ossian Lochs, over the coveted king’s lands,” one of Ogilvie’s men had said. “Absolutely deadly, that Laird Mackenzie. He watched his father die at the end of an enemy’s sword. And in response, he cut a line through Campbell’s troops that ran my blood cold. Mad, he is. Wickedly lethal.”
“Aye,” agreed another. “He’s huge, and that wild black hair does nothing to tone down the menace of him.”
Laird Ogilvie had agreed.“Knox Mackenzie isdangerous, guarded and altogether sour. It might be true that his clanspeople are gifted in the ways of the land. Their fields and orchards are rich with crops, aye, and their harvests are bountiful enough to feed not only their entire clan but also to trade with other clans for valuable commodities. But he’s gruff and entirely lacking in the diplomacy of his father.”
“And what’s the next brother’s name? Wilkie, is it? If you ask me, his swordsmanship skills are overstated.”
“But the women surely do fall at his feet. They flock around him like birds. He’d be easy to defeat—he’s too distracted.” This had inspired laughter.
“Aye, and the youngest brother, Kade—a savage. Always armed to the teeth and eyein’ a man up like he’d as soon kill him as pass the time of day.”
“The sisters, however,” one of the men had slurred, “are quite pleasing to the eye.” More familiarly lecherous laughter.
Laird Ogilvie had continued, “I’m sorely tempted to overrun their keep and take a bit o’ that food for myself.”
“Aye. And I’ll grab the sisters while we’re at it.”
The thought of running into one of the Mackenzie brothers as I passed by their keep was less than appealing. But one key detail stuck fervently in my mind.Their fields and orchards are rich with crops.
My empty stomach rumbled at the thought. No matter how intimidating the Mackenzie brothers may have been, the plan that was playing out in my head didn’t involve meeting them or in any way alerting them to my presence. But it did involve their bounty. Such was my hunger, I decided I would head in the direction of the Mackenzie keep. If I could pilfer some resources fromtheir crops, I could sustain myself for the coming days and weeks of travel to the north. It was risky, aye, but I had little choice; there was no other food to be found on the windswept Highlands. Now, I sorely regretted not asking Ritchie and Ronan to teach me archery. At least then I could have hunted along the way. As it was, I had no choice but to avail myself to the Mackenzie gardens, if I could find them.
This is what I had become, I reflected bitterly—an aspiring thief, a vagrant, a homeless wretch. All because I couldn’t stomach the advances of Laird Ogilvie. Was I completely foolish to choose the fate of a wanderer over the fate of a mistress? Very likely so. I had considered this question many times since I began to suspect the laird’s intentions toward me. And I’d unconsciously made the decision: in my bones and my soul, I just couldn’t make myself submit.
There was no point wallowing in my predicament. After all, I’d seen it coming. I’d surprised myself at my speedy, well-crafted and—as yet—successful getaway. Neither self-pity nor self-loathing would better my situation. What I needed was to reach the outskirts of the Mackenzie keep, to fashion a ladder or find a tree to climb to scale the walls, and to wait for the cover of night.
Before I could do any of these things, I heard the unmistakable rhythmic beat of galloping horses, coming from the south, the same direction I had traveled.
A group of Ogilvie’s men, no doubt, and hot on my trail.
I kicked my horse into a faster pace, through a lane of sparsely dotted pine trees. One side opened out to vast fields of scrubby purple heather. On the left was asharp incline rising up to rocky cliffs. It was too steep for a horse. But there was no way I could ride across the open fields; I would be easily seen. If I rode straight ahead, I knew I would be overtaken—my pursuers’ steeds would be larger and faster. Warriors’ horses, not a field horse, like mine.
Without warning, my horse neighed loudly and reared, throwing me to the ground. I landed on the hard, painful edges of my pack. But I jumped up quickly, too frightened to dwell on bumps or bruises.
I heard men’s voices getting closer. “Spread out!” one of them shouted.
I reached for the reins of my unsettled horse and slid my saddle blanket off the horse’s back. I waved it at him. The horse immediately galloped off, in the direction of the approaching search party. I took the opportunity to run and began to climb the incline of the lower cliffs.
“The horse!”a man yelled, too far into the distance, I hoped, to yet see me.
But there was another pursuer who was closer, galloping straight toward me. And I was not hidden enough. The shrubby trees were too sparse.
It was only seconds before the warrior reached me. I armed myself with my small sword and turned to face him. I knew resistance was futile, once he called out to the rest of the search party. I would be surrounded, beaten, taken back to Ogilvie to be punished.
But the warrior did not reach for his sword. Instead, he removed his helmet, revealing disheveled, very-red hair. “Roses. ’Tis me, Ritchie.”
Ritchie. My friend and my trainer. The one who hadtaught me how to fight and how to hold a sword correctly, as I was doing now.
“Nice technique.” He smiled briefly, a quick flash of mirth. Then his face grew serious. “I’ll not reveal you, Roses. But you must be quick. Do whatever you can to escape, and don’t come back. I know nothing about what you did to anger Laird Ogilvie, but he’s hell-bent on getting you back. He has dispatched search parties in all directions. He wants you found.” He turned to look behind him at the approaching soldiers. “Go! Before the others catch up.”
“Ritchie,” I said, gasping for breath, with relief and gratitude.
“Go!” he said, more forcefully. “Be safe, Roses.”
The furtive warning in Ritchie’s voice charged me, and I turned from him. I looked back only once to see his horse vanishing into a glade, wishing I could thank him, but he was already gone.
I climbed as fast as I could up the craggy terraced cliffs, farther and higher for what felt like a long time, until I reached a sheltered grassy cove. My lungs and legs burned with my exertions, and I sat for a moment to catch my breath. I could see that I was high above the vast rolling grasslands now. So high that I was afforded a magnificent view, across the heather fields.
