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“I’m going with you,” said Maira, standing and strapping on her sword. “If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll have my blade to protect us.”
“Perhaps we should take a man with us,” said Willow, always thinking about men.
“Nay,” protested Fia. “Alastair didna even want ye three to come to the garden.”
“Then let’s ask Branton,” suggested Maira. “We can trust that he won’t say anything. Plus, he can help us get away from the castle without being questioned. And if we get into trouble, he knows how to use a sword.”
“Fine,” agreed Fia. “But ye will all wait outside the garden. I will enter alone to see how Alastair will react.”
* * *
Alastair threwthe last shovel of dirt atop Imanie’s grave, glad this chore was finished. It was a lot harder than he thought, trying to dig a grave and move a body when his side hurt like the devil and burned like the fires of hell. The sun was high and the day was hot. He felt as if he needed a drink of ale and some shade.
With his plaid covering his waist, he left his chest bare. The sun beating down atop his head was starting to make him feel faint. He needed water and had to get to the creek as soon as possible. Turning to make his way back to the cottage, a sharp pain shot through his side and his vision became blurred. With another step, he stumbled. Then the world went dark all around him.
* * *
Fia slid off her horse,placing her hand on the old wooden gate. Her sister, cousins, and Branton were mounted on horses behind her. They had waited until the afternoon to come here since Lord Beaufort and his men had been in the woods collecting the dead bodies most of the day. The sun was hot, and Fia couldn’t help thinking that if Imanie’s body was still lying on the porch, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “I will let ye ken if it is all right to enter.”
“Enter? What are you talking about?” asked Branton. “All I see is a lot of vines covering the hill.”
“It’s a secret,” said Morag, holding her finger to her mouth. “Ye canna tell anyone, Branton.”
“That’s right,” Maira answered with force. “If you do, you will have to deal with me.” To add to her warning, she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.
“Lady Maira, you don’t scare me,” said the boy with a grin. “I’ve been in the midst of a battle now. I’ll have you know I killed a Scot and stole this horse from him as well.” He reached forward from his mounted position, rubbing his hand over the horse’s neck.
“Quiet,” Fia said again, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. She gingerly pushed open the gate and took a step inside. Her focus was only on the cottage, trying to see if Imanie’s body was still there. When she couldn’t find it, she scanned the rest of the garden. Then she saw a fresh grave as well as Alastair’s body lying prone on the ground. “Alastair,” she called out, rushing forward, falling to her knees. She flipped him over and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard him moan.
“Fia? Are you all right?” Maira shouted from the gate.
“Get in here, all of ye,” Fia commanded. “We have to get him out of the sun and into the house.”
The rest of the girls and Branton rushed up to help her.
“I’m the strongest, let me carry him,” said Branton. Just as he bent over to help, Alastair’s eyes opened. The Scot’s hands shot up in the air and grabbed Branton around the throat.
“Ye bastard, ye are the one who did this to me,” shouted Alastair, tightening his hands around Branton’s neck. “What did ye do with my horse?”
“Let him go,” shouted Fia, trying to pull his hands off of Branton.
“Out of the way,” said Maira, holding out the tip of her sword, just under Alastair’s throat. “Put him down, or I’ll run you through with my blade.”
“Och, ye are naught but a bunch of lassies and a scrawny lad.” Alastair released Branton, throwing him down on the ground. The boy gasped for air and jumped to his feet, drawing his sword and holding it up to Alastair as well. “I dinna have time for this,” spat Alastair. In one motion, he’d not only drawn his sword but also knocked the swords out of both Maira’s and Branton’s hands. “Now, bring me my horse, lad, and dinna tarry.”
Branton ran for the Scot’s horse while the girls stood at the end of his blade, not sure what to do.
“Here’s your steed,” said Branton, handing it over. Alastair turned his back to Fia as he started to mount his horse. Fia took advantage of the situation by bending down and picking up Branton’s sword. She didn’t want to hurt Alastair, but neither did she want him to leave. Swinging the hilt of the sword at him, she walloped him in the back of the head, knocking him out.
* * *
“Bluidy hell,”grumbled Alastair feeling like he’d been run over by a horse that stomped on his head. He opened his eyes to find his hands and legs tied with rope as he sat on a chair in the cottage. In front of him, the four girls and the lad who stabbed him stood watching with wide eyes. Both the boy and the girl with the strawberry-blond hair held their swords pointed right at him. His sword and weapon belt had been removed and were on the table on the other side of the room. “What did ye do that for, Fia?” He wanted to touch the back of his throbbing head but wasn’t able to move his arms.
“I didna want ye to leave before I had the chance to thank ye for buryin’ Imanie,” Fia told him.
“If that’s the way ye thank someone, I will never do a favor for ye again. There was no need to knock me over the head and tie me up.”
